


Dark Wizards, Dark Wizards Everywhere

by agentmoppet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Clueless!draco, Dark Magic, M/M, Protective!Draco, auror!fic, clueless!Harry, cutting (not for depression - spell related), drug use parallels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:47:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4379594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentmoppet/pseuds/agentmoppet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven years after the war, Harry Potter is feeling disillusioned with life. Partnered with Draco Malfoy, it is their job as elite Aurors to defeat dark and powerful witches and wizards. But what if there aren't any? What if all there is to life is a well filed tax return? ...Or what if they're wrong? EWE, SLASH, HPDM</p><p>See trigger warnings in tags</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Chapter One**

 

"Too what for his what?"

"Too big for his britches," Wiffleston said tightly. "It is a figure of speech, Mr. Malfoy."

There was a pregnant pause.

"It's a stupid one," Malfoy said, his usual sneer temporarily usurped by an expression of utter incredulity. "When you sass-talk the Headmaster and insult the cook, you're too big for your britches. When you split your soul into seven pieces and murder half of Europe, you're certifiably insane."

Harry nodded slowly, wishing suddenly and fervently that he hadn't gone to Ron's midweek pub night last night. He was sure he would have a far easier time concentrating on the current conversation if his eyeballs would stop throbbing.

Egbert Wiffleston sniffed. "The rumours of He Who Must Not Be Named's escapades have been greatly exaggerated. A fact that should be painfully obvious by the knowledge that he was defeated by a seventeen year old boy with a disarming spell." He pointedly did not look at Harry. "As I was saying-"

"What the hell would you know?" Malfoy spat. "You spent the entire war sun-baking on the coast of California."

"What. War. Mr. Malfoy?!" Wiffleston hissed through his teeth. "Pockets of rebellious fighting do not a battle make. _As_ I was saying-"

"No, a _battle_ a battle makes, you half wit," Malfoy practically yelled, making the walls of Wiffleston's tiny office shake. "Don't you read the Prophet?"

"The Daily Prophet has a history of falsifying facts in pursuit of lucrative headlines," Wiffleston said very quickly before Malfoy could get a word in. "Taking such articles without a grain of salt is the mark of ignorance."

Harry closed his eyes. This was their punishment. Somewhere, in the depths of the Ministry of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebot was crying with laughter, Harry was sure of it.

This was all because of that thing they did the other week. What was it again? Excessive Use of Force Leading to Obstruction of Justice. At least, that's what they were calling it. Repeatedly slamming Malfoy's head into the dashboard of their stakeout car while the perpetrator snuck out the back door was what Harry called it. And Malfoy had deserved it, although Harry couldn't exactly remember why. Something about switching Harry's Firewhisky for Veritaserum while he was talking to a very attractive witch, and then asking him about the time he had been found wandering around Hogsmead singing 'Oh Come All Ye Faithful' wearing nothing but a Christmas hat. And then something about asking him whether or not the attractive witch was the most beautiful witch he'd ever seen – which, when you've seen Fleur Delacour, is just plain unfair – and then something about a chocolate fountain, which Harry couldn't remember at all.

Regardless, the Excessive Use of Force was justified and certainly did not warrant Egbert Wiffleston giving them one of his trademarked three hour lectures on their next assignment, interspersed with snide commentary regarding the over-inflated egos of Ministry favourites and the blatant disregard for anti bribery laws shown by – quote – bad eggs. Harry wasn't sure if Malfoy was more insulted by the suggestion that he bribed his way into the Ministry, or by being called something so lame as a bad egg, but either way, neither of them had been in the best of moods when they were summoned to Wiffleston's office.

And now this: proof that Hermione hadn't been lying when she had told him about a disturbingly increasing number of wizards who were refusing to believe that the war had been as bad as the media reported. But then, Harry had never held much stock in the intelligence of Ministry employees. The fact that he now was a Ministry employee – and what's more, by choice – only served to make him angrier.

"As I was saying," Wiffleston continued, his lips pursed tight. "Just because He Who Must Not Be Named is gone does not mean the Auror department has reason to put their feet up. The world may not be full of Dark Wizards, but it does contain bad witches and wizards who mean harm to other witches and wizards. The need to catch and restrain these wrong-doers is just as urgent as it was for He Who Must Not Be Named. Even if it is not quite so," he gave a small cough, "glamorous."

Malfoy opened his mouth to speak, but Wiffleston continued loudly. "He Who Must Not Be Named was an anomaly. A mildly talented wizard whose infamy ultimately exceeded his skill and who misunderstood the limits of his power. It is regrettable that you engaged with him when you were young and impressionable, and therefore believed that the world would be full of such dangers. But that is no excuse for shirking your responsibility to the danger you have resolved to defeat! It may not be prestigious. It may not be noble. _But it is necessary!_ " Wiffleston glared at them, panting slightly with the effort of self-restraint. "Now go back out to your automobile, drive to the address listed on your assignment, and this time when the perp leaves the building, _catch him!_ "

Harry hated Wiffleston, from his thick toupee right down to his knock-off Italian loafers. He glared at him. "You're nothing but a pathetic little worm, Wiffleston," he said through gritted teeth. "You know that, don't you?"

"Oh, and now he says something!" Malfoy announced to the wall, waving his arms at Harry as if he were presenting him at an auction. "The Great Lord of The Docile Temper finally decides to contribute."

" _DON'T SPEAK TO YOUR SUPERIORS LIKE THAT!"_ Wiffleston screamed, finally losing control. With a pop, Harry and Malfoy found themselves sitting on the pavement outside the Ministry of Magic, curious Muggles eyeing them as they walked past.

"Where were you on that one, Potter?" Malfoy snapped, glaring at Harry as they both stood up and dusted themselves off. "You crack it if someone butters your sandwich badly, but you'll leave me yelling at that imbecile on my own?"

"I have a headache," Harry muttered.

Malfoy smirked. "Professing the unearthly beauty of certain Veela-related Weasleys again, were you?"

Harry punched him.

"Oh, sod off, Potter," Malfoy grunted, rubbing his shoulder. "That witch was a gold-digger anyway. Get in the damn car. Let's go catch this- what is he again?"

"Smuggler," Harry said, fumbling for the latch of the car, which they had left invisible again.

"Smuggler?!" Malfoy cried, looking stricken. "I just got chewed out for two and a half hours because of a smuggler? Oh my god, Potter. Pay attention this time. I don't want to be forced to sit through another lecture because we didn't apprehend someone who probably sold me my bloody potions cabinet."

"You have no scruples, Malfoy. Has anyone ever told you that?" Harry said, finding the latch and opening the door. He disappeared inside, while Malfoy went around and fumbled with the passenger door.

"Of course I do, Potter," Malfoy said airily opening the door and sitting down. "Why else would I be here in this stupid car with you, fighting for the good of wizard-kind?"

"Because Shacklebot wouldn't pardon you if you didn't join the Auror Department, where you could be kept under a strict watch while you repaid your debt to society."

"You wound me, Potter."

"Not nearly enough, Malfoy."

Malfoy ignored him and pulled out the address. "Go straight," he said.

They drove to the new hide-out in mutinous silence. Harry had no idea why Malfoy was silent, other than that he was a melodramatic prick, but Harry was silent because Wiffleston was right. Not about the war – that was such a daft notion that it shot well past being funny to being just plain scary that anyone could be so ignorant. No, Wiffleston was right about the world in general. There were no dark wizards scheming behind closed doors, ready to take over the world as soon as Justice was distracted. There were no evil plots waiting to be foiled. There was no darkness lurking beneath secret passages filled with deadly creatures.

There were only smugglers and drug dealers and petty criminals hatching dastardly plans that took the Auror Department a matter of days – sometimes hours – to disentangle and avert. It was no wonder he and Malfoy kept missing the perps on account of inconvenient distraction. They were just so damn bored. It wasn't that Harry wished Voldemort would come back, or even that he wished another wizard would take his place. He just wished that something about the world and his life would make sense again and make him feel like he was doing something worthwhile. And no, dammit, he didn't need it to be prestigious or noble, whatever Wiffleston might say, but he did need it to be _something_ more than the pathetic waste of time it felt like now.

"Potter, I like swimming as much as the next person, but I don't particularly feel like doing it right now."

"What the hell are you talking about, Malfoy?"

"You're about to drive off the peer."

"Shit!" Harry slammed on the brakes just before they went over the edge of the jetty. "Could you have said something a little earlier?!" He snapped, glaring at Malfoy who was calmly rearranging his shirt cuffs.

"I was wondering how far you'd get before noticing," he said airily. "You must have been very distracted. I nearly had to Disapparate."

"Malfoy, you're a git," Harry muttered, reversing the car until they were back outside the house they had been searching for.

When they were parked up on the curb where hopefully no one would try to park in the 'empty' space, Harry turned off the engine and they settled back to wait.

"Bet you I spot him first," Malfoy said after a long silence.

Harry grunted.

"Bet you ten galleons I spot him first," Malfoy repeated.

Harry grunted.

"Bet you ten galleons and-"

"Malfoy," Harry interrupted. "You're not going to spot him first."

"Why not? You're just scared you're going to lose ten galleons. Go on, why won't I spot him first?"

"Because I've already spotted him. He's taking a leak on the front fence."

"Shit."

They threw on Harry's invisibility cloak and shuffled over to the smuggler whose name temporarily eluded Harry. Really, they needn't have bothered with the cloak. The smuggler was too focused on the difficult task of holding himself up by the fence to notice anything going on around him.

"NobodyknowsthetroubleI'veseen," the man sang, slurring the words into one big mess and slowly falling sideways.

Malfoy and Harry shared a look and unanimously decided to wait until the man was finished 'concentrating'.

The man continued to fall until he was almost horizontal before he suddenly hoisted himself up and zipped up his fly.

"Nobody _knows!_ " he sang with gusto.

"Incarcerous," Harry muttered, hardly bothering to lower his voice, and whipped off the cloak.

"Heywhat'sthisthen?" the man muttered, looking down at the ropes binding him. He looked up at Harry. "Where'd you come from?"

Malfoy pulled off the cloak and eyed the man, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"Caw, how'dyoudothatthen?" the smuggler muttered, squinting at Malfoy.

"He is a wizard, isn't he?" Malfoy asked, still sneering at the man.

"Shertainly am," the man said proudly.

Malfoy sighed. "This is utterly degrading."

"Don'tfeeldegre-re-re-ing."

"I didn't mean for you, you stinky bastard," Malfoy muttered.

Harry flicked his wand and sent the man sprawling into the back of the car.

"I'm not sure I'm cut out for this life of elegance you lead, Potter," Malfoy said drily.

"Get in the car, Malfoy."

They drove back to the Ministry accompanied by a sparkling rendition of the entire soundtrack of Jesus Christ, Superstar.

"Got him," Harry announced, dropping the smuggler on Wiffleston's desk with a loud crash.

"What are you doing bringing him here?!" Wiffleston exclaimed, jumping back as paperwork flew everywhere.

"Since you were so invested in our success," Malfoy said. "We thought we'd stop by personally to show just how moved we were by your inspirational speech."

Wiffleston preened. "Well, I-"

"I'm being sarcastic you dolt."

Wiffleston bristled under Malfoy's sneer and Harry's glare. With another pop they found themselves outside the Ministry once again, this time thankfully without the smuggler.

"I thought that would be more satisfying," Malfoy said thoughtfully. "Messing up his desk and stinking out his office with eau de drunken-homeless-man. Instead I just feel listless and empty."

"Insulting Wiffleston just isn't what it used to be," Harry said dully, getting to his feet and dusting himself off for the second time that day.

"None of this is what it used to be," Malfoy muttered.

Harry eyed him shrewdly. Malfoy returned the look but didn't say anything. If they said it, they'd have to acknowledge it. This was life. It didn't get any more exciting than tax returns and eau de drunken-homeless-man.

"Get in the car," Malfoy muttered, taking the driver's seat. "Let's go to the pub."

"It's only one thirty," Harry said, getting into the passenger seat.

"Good, maybe we'll get fired."

"Hey, what's this?" Harry asked, leaning back and plucking a small vial of from the back seat of the car. It glowed faintly, catching his attention immediately.

Malfoy looked at it and shrugged. "Smuggler must have dropped it. Probably an explosive. We'll hand it in when we get back." His eyes suddenly gleamed. "Or, we could-"

"We're not blowing something up just to get fired," Harry interrupted.

"Killjoy."

Harry slipped the vial carefully into the glove compartment and promptly forgot about it.

 

**Chapter Two**

 

As it turned out, they didn't get fired. They got promoted.

"That evil little bastard," Malfoy muttered.

"It wasn't Wiffleston," Harry said dully as the Department applauded their news. "He's not clever enough to think of this."

Wiffleston stood smugly at the front of the room, waiting for the applause to die down.

This whole promotion stunk of Kingsley. Kingsley knew that Harry and Malfoy were bored, and he was sick of their careless mistakes. Shoving them into close quarters with Wiffleston - who would now be their direct superior - and giving them more work was a carefully calculated move designed to remind them who was in charge and hopefully kick them back into gear.

"Next on the agenda," Wiffleston continued when everyone was quiet. "Toilet paper. I've received several complaints that people are either not replacing the rolls, or are replacing them incorrectly. Might I remind you-"

Harry wordlessly handed Malfoy a brightly wrapped sweet. Malfoy tore the wrapper and shoved it in his mouth immediately, a blissful expression crossing his face as soon as he began chewing. Harry unwrapped his own Tunable Toffee and chewed quickly until he found a radio station he liked. Harry had to admit, the latest Weasley's Wizard Wheezes invention had saved his sanity more than once during a Ministry Meeting. Wiffleston was likely to drone on for at least another forty-five minutes, and without the distraction of music playing from the convenience of Harry's own head, Harry was at risk of doing something stupid.

Despite Kingsley's intention to shove Harry and Malfoy back into line, Harry was more inclined to just quit. It wasn't as though he needed the money, but something always stopped him from actually giving notice. He would never say it out loud, but part of him was afraid to find out what he would do with his time when there was nothing forcing him to get out of bed in the morning.

Something nudged against his leg. He looked down and saw nothing. Looking up at Wiffleston, he gauged from the man's gestures that he was still discussing the most effective way to replace a toilet roll, and bent down to look under the table.

There was nothing there except for a small vial that looked as though it had fallen out of his pocket. He frowned at the vial. It was glowing like the one in the glove box from the other day. But that wasn't possible. He'd left it in there, hadn't he?

He picked up the vial and looked at it. It was warm to touch.

Harry nudged Malfoy. "Isn't this from the car?" He whispered.

"Wheel around and around and around and around," muttered Malfoy under his breath, singing with his eyes closed and completely ignoring Harry.

Harry nudged him again. He opened his eyes and glared at Harry. Harry waved the vial under his nose.

He moved to smack the vial away, but then stopped and frowned at it. "Isn't that the vial from the car?" he whispered.

"I think so," Harry said.

"What did you bring it in here for? It's probably an explosive. It could go off any second."

Harry shook his head. "I didn't bring it in. I found it on the floor."

Malfoy smirked and opened his mouth, but before he could spurt some derisive comment they suddenly realised that everyone was watching them.

Harry spat out his Tunable Toffee. The music stopped immediately and he could hear that the room was completely quiet.

Wiffleston looked like a tomato about to pop. "When you are both paying attention," he said furiously. "We can conclude the meeting."

Harry noticed Malfoy was still chewing his toffee, a politely attentive expression on his face.

"Smug bastard," Harry muttered, knowing Malfoy couldn't hear.

It had been a shock to both of them when they were assigned as partners four years ago, and an even bigger shock to realise that they actually worked well together. Okay, so maybe they still shot insults at each other whenever possible, and maybe Malfoy was still a dickhead when it came to anything even remotely moral, and maybe they both needed a little work when it came to doing things by the book - which, as far as Harry figured, was written by Aurors anyway - but apart from that they were a pretty good team. And, for Harry, it meant that he never had to deal with a starry eyed, star-struck partner, which was more important to him than fifty well-mannered Aurors.

Back in Malfoy's cubicle, they examined the vial.

"Not that I don't believe you, Potter," Malfoy said drily. "But I've never heard of a potion that moved on its own. Exploded on it's own? Yes. Calmly followed someone into their office and tapped politely on their leg? No."

Harry grunted. "So you think I'm nuts," he said.

"In a word? Yes."

Harry picked up the potion and stared at it. "I just don't know what it-" Before he could finish the sentence, the potion whacked him in the head.

He dropped his jaw, stunned. "Did you see that?"

Malfoy stared at the vial, his eyes wide, and shook his head slowly. "No, I didn't." He paused. "Did it just whack you on the head?"

The potion smacked Harry on the jaw. Before he could fight back, something very large slogged him in the back of the head and everything went black.

When Harry woke up, he was in the unmistakable sterile walls of St. Mungos. He sat up and saw Malfoy chewing happily on a box of chocolates that had obviously been left on Harry's nightstand.

"Oi, those are mine," Harry said.

"I don't see your name on them," Malfoy muttered around a mouthful of chocolate.

"It's right there on the card!"

"You're delirious, Potter. Go back to sleep."

Harry groaned as his head gave a sudden twinge of pain. He laid back. "What happened?" he asked.

"It's a funny story," Malfoy said, throwing Harry a peppermint flavoured chocolate and taking two for himself. "When I said that I had never heard of a potion that moved on its own, I can now confidently say that I have heard of fifty."

"Fifty?" Harry asked, confused.

"Fifty," Malfoy agreed. "And they all hit you on the back of the head at once. Now, the reason _why_ they did this - and how - is currently a matter of some debate."

"And if you were to take an educated guess?" Harry asked impatiently.

"I would say it's because your head has finally grown so large that it's developed its own force of gravity."

"Very funny."

"I know. I've been waiting hours for you to wake up so I could tell you that one."

Harry rolled his eyes and groaned again. "You mean they really have no idea what the potions were?"

Malfoy finally stopped giving the box of chocolates his undivided attention and looked at Harry. He smirked, but there was a strange look in his eye that Harry couldn't identify.

"They really have no idea, Potter. But I swiped one of the potions before they took them off for testing, and while you were getting your beauty sleep I had a bit of a closer look."

"And?"

"And it's an immunity potion, so the way it acted almost makes sense," Malfoy glanced at him and rolled his eyes at the blank expression on Harry's face. "Immunity potions are most frequently used by Aurors. We've never had to work in a situation that would need one yet, but an example is if you were walking into a building that had been thoroughly trapped. You wouldn't want to necessarily rely only on your wand to get past the traps safely. So you'd have a bag of these with you, but if you've got Fiendfyre coming at you, you don't want to be fumbling for the right potion, so they're brewed to recognise the presence of what they're providing immunity against and to glow or vibrate or do something to attract your attention."

"Well, hitting me in the back of the head certainly attracted my attention," Harry muttered.

Malfoy nodded. "We have a particularly zealous brew, it would seem."

Harry snorted. "So what is it providing immunity against?"

"Not sure yet," Malfoy said, looking hesitant. "And there's something else-"

The door opened and a nurse came in. "Oh good, you're awake," she said to Harry with a smile. "It was a particularly good hit. You were out for a while."

"Yeah, it was," Harry said with a grin, rubbing the back of his head.

She came over to the bed and waved her wand over him. "Just doing a couple of final checks and you'll be free to go."

"And when are you free to go?" Malfoy interrupted, leaning back in his chair and smirking suggestively at the nurse.

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. The nurse looked up at him in surprise and, to Harry's dismay, giggled. "Not for a while yet," she said, turning back to Harry. "'Fraid I'm in for the late shift tonight."

"And what about tomorrow?" Malfoy said, unperturbed. "Surely you'd be free around eight o'clock?"

"I'd have to check," she said, glancing back at Malfoy with a smile. "There you are," she said to Harry. "All done. I'll sign you out."

"Thank you," Harry said, pushing back the covers and reaching for his clothes, which he could see on the chair behind Malfoy.

The nurse left him to change. As soon as she left the room he shot an amused glance at Malfoy.

"'When are you free to go'?" he mimicked incredulously. "Really? You sound like you got that line out of a book on the cheesiest pickup lines of the twentieth century."

Malfoy snorted. "At least I wasn't smiling at her and trying to look sorry for myself like a right git." He rubbed the back of his head dramatically. "Oh, poor me, I'm Harry Potter and I'm always getting mysteriously injured. Hold me."

Harry wacked him over the head. "You've got no chance, she was just being polite."

"Polite, my arse. She was all over me, Potter."

Harry snorted. "You really think you're something, don't you?"

Malfoy stuck his nose in the air. "I land far more dates than you, even without a famous scar."

"Want a make a bet on that?"

Malfoys eyes gleamed. "One hundred galleons. I'll have more dates than you by the end of the year."

"Pfft," Harry muttered. "Done."

"Confident, aren't we, Potter?"

Harry ignored him and changed out of his hospital gown. "So what was the 'something else' you mentioned?"

"Oh, right," Malfoy frowned. "I'm not sure, but I think I recognise the potion maker. Every potion maker has a distinct style, and this one is a bit strange."

"In what way?"

"If it's the person I think it is, they died more than a century ago. All their potions should be well gone by now."

Harry frowned. "So where did the smugglers get it?"

"I'm not sure, Potter. But I really want to find out."

An owl swooped in the window just as Harry had finished getting dressed. Malfoy untied the letter and opened it curiously, a frown slowly crossing his face as he read.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Well they've finally identified the potion," he said. "But that's all they're saying. We're to get back to the Ministry immediately."

"Nice to see they're sympathetic to the sick and injured," Harry said, following him down the hall.

"Potter, if they sent you a fruit basket every time you got a boo boo, we'd all be out of a Christmas bonus. Now where's that nurse?"

**Chapter Three**

 

"Told you," Malfoy muttered smugly to Harry.

Harry rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Wiffleston didn't notice and kept talking. He had moved from the baffling origin of the immunity potions - of which, to Harry's disgust, Malfoy had been absolutely correct - to the tracing methods they would be employing in the search for the cache.

"And we will of course need to interrogate the smugglers," Wiffleston added as a side note.

Malfoy sat up eagerly in his chair. "'We' in the literal sense? Or 'we' in the general auror department sense?"

Wiffleston gave him a look of poorly disguised contempt. "The aurors assigned to the case, Mr. Malfoy," he said curtly. "Which would be Smith and Wilson."

"You mean I get bludgeoned half to death by a sack of overly enthusiastic potions, and I don't even get assigned to the case?" Harry interrupted, glaring at Wiffleston. "Why the hell am I here, then?"

Malfoy nodded firmly in agreeance.

"You are here, Mr. Potter," Wiffleston said with a sly grin that worried Harry immensely. "Because your recent promotion has dictated that you be put in charge of the operation. Such a prestigious role - new to both yourself and Mr. Malfoy - requires you to coordinate the investigation from the comfort of your own office, remaining in constant contact with field officers Smith and Wilson, and to use your superior knowledge of the criminal mindset to determine new and productive methods and locations for investigation."

"You mean we're stuck inside for the whole thing?" Malfoy said, his face twisted in horror.

"Precisely," Wiffleston said, the grin still firmly in place. "I expect your first report by Wednesday. Good luck, gentlemen." Wiffleston smirked and left the room.

Harry looked around, an expression of sudden understanding mingled with alarm crossing his face. "Two desks," he said with a whimper. Malfoy's eyes widened as he too realised that this was not Wiffleston's new office as they had assumed, but their own. Brown walls, two white desks, and a thick brown door, firmly shut now that Wiffleston had left. If shut doors could look smug, this one did.

Harry and Malfoy stared at the door, both deep in contemplation.

"Bugger this," Harry said suddenly.

"My thoughts precisely, Potter," Malfoy said, and they both climbed out the window.

They emerged in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office.

"I always wondered what would happen if you tried to use one of the fake windows," Malfoy said, staring thoughtfully at the space they had just emerged from, which looked just like an ordinary third floor window.

"Wonder if it leads back to the same window," Harry said, scratching his head. "Guess we'll find out later when we come back."

"Will we go find Smith and Wilson, then?" Malfoy asked, leading the way down the corridor.

"Can't let them have all the fun," Harry agreed. "Although you needn't sound so excited about interrogating prisoners, you sadistic git."

"Excuse me for appreciating the prospect of a task that offers something a little more intriguing than falling asleep on a stakeout. Don't tell me you wouldn't enjoy finally putting your elite interrogation skills to use."

"By 'elite interrogation skills' do you mean flashing them your Dark Mark and pretending you're not terrified at the sight of blood?"

"Low blow, Potter. You're trivialising a very serious event in wizarding history. Shame on you."

"Don't act like that wasn't your plan."

"Harry!" A voice said in surprise.

Harry turned around. "Oh, hi, Mr. Weasley," he said with a grin. "What are you working on today?"

"Enchanted picture frames," Mr. Weasley whispered conspiratorially, walking over to them and waving a brown wooden frame in front of him. "Pickett thinks it's just a simple illusionment charm to make the pictures change when Muggles aren't looking. Adding a piece of furniture, or changing a person's hair to make Muggles think they're going mad. But I think it's far more sinister than that, Harry. I think the pictures are stealing objects. But don't let Pickett know. He thinks he's got this one in the bag." Mr. Weasley frowned. "I'll show him. He'll think twice before he takes another cursed teacup investigation out from under my very nose."

Harry stifled a laugh. "Well, if you see Wiffleston, don't tell him you saw us, okay? We're meant to be coordinating an investigation from the office."

Mr. Weasley looked suddenly concerned. "You're not rushing into something are you?" he asked, all trace of distracted competitiveness gone from his face.

"It's alright," Harry said gently. "It's quite safe. We're meant to be staying behind as a punishment. We've been getting a little, er, distracted lately."

Mr. Weasley's eyes twinkled. "Alright then," he said, although he still looked faintly concerned. "I won't say a word."

"Thanks, Mr. Weasley," Harry smiled.

They waved goodbye - Malfoy and Mr. Weasley sharing a curt nod - and moved on, quickly exiting the Ministry and checking where they could find Smith and Wilson.

"Back at the smuggler's den," Malfoy said, flipping through the assignment.

They located the car with some difficulty and drove off.

"So what do you know about this potion maker?" Harry asked Malfoy as they drove. "Was she really good?"

"Her name was Portentia and she was the best," Malfoy said. "Or one of the best, at least. So I'm not surprised her immunity potions are still so potent after being stored for hundreds of years. They might not be working perfectly, since there was no reason for them to be throwing themselves at you, but the point is they're clearly still strong. With a little tuning they could probably be used again."

"And why is it so concerning that her potions have turned up?" Harry asked. His mind had wandered during Wiffleston's explanation.

Malfoy glanced at him in exasperation. "Do you ever pay attention, Potter? It is concerning because her potions were never benign. This immunity potion was probably brewed for immunity against incarceration spells or entrapment spells. In other words, to protect wizards and witches who were probably being, shall we say, a little bit naughty, and who didn't want to be captured by the authorities."

"Ah," Harry said. "So if these potions have survived, we're worried her others have too?"

"Heavens, Potter. One could almost think you had a brain in there after all," Malfoy said drily. "Yes, we are concerned that her offensive potions have been stored as well as her defensive potions. And if that is the case, it would be a really good idea to find them before anyone else did."

"Because they could be really destructive?"

"Because spilling a small drop of one her potions could destroy the entire Ministry of Magic in less than twenty seconds."

Harry gaped at Malfoy, whatever words he had been going to say forgotten.

"Although, of course, if you keep driving while looking at me instead of the road, we may never have to worry about such destruction. Being dead and all."

Harry grunted and turned back to the road. "I didn't know potions could be so potent," he said after a long silence.

"It's rare," Malfoy said. "There have only been a small handful of wizards and witches in written history who could brew a potion so powerful."

They arrived at the smugglers' house and parked quietly on the street.

"There," Malfoy said after a few seconds of scanning the ground. He pointed to an area of the nature strip that had four conspicuously flattened areas of grass. They pulled on the cloak and walked over. Harry took a few deep breaths before rapping on the side of the car. He hated dealing with Smith and Wilson. He had never met two people more terrified of diverging from the rules.

A small sliver of car appeared suddenly in the air as Smith rolled down the window and peered out nervously.

"It's us," Harry said. "Open the door, they can't see this side."

Smith popped open the passenger door and Harry and Malfoy slid into the backseat, the illusionment charm still hiding the car from sight on the side facing the house.

"Aren't you two meant to be at the office?" Wilson asked from the driver's seat, his tone short and brisk.

"Change of plan, Willy," Malfoy drawled. "You get the comfy office, and we're going to do the field work."

Wilson bristled. "But Mr. Wiffleston said that you two would be in charge of the investigation and would coordinate from home office."

"Funny thing, that, 'being in charge'," Harry said. "It means we're in charge. So leave."

Smith looked stunned, like the ground had just been whisked from beneath his feet. "What will we do instead?"

Malfoy handed him the folder he had tucked under his arm before they left the car. "There are six addresses in this folder. Investigate each one and look closely for any signs of potion making. You'll need to be discrete with your questioning - don't let the perps know what you're looking for. They're highly dangerous and skilled in misdirection."

"So we're still doing fieldwork?" Smith asked, smiling hesitantly. Wilson looked suspicious.

"Of course," Harry said, "What do you take us for? We carefully tailored your investigation to suit your skill. We've high hopes for your investigative skills."

Wilson and Smith shared a glance. "And the perps don't know what we're questioning them about?" Wilson asked, chewing his cheek thoughtfully.

"Not a clue," Harry said. "You'll need to employ the highest level of discrete questioning."

Wilson nodded firmly. "We'll be on it right away."

"Brilliant," Harry grinned. He threw the cloak over himself and Malfoy again and opened the passenger door. When they were safely onto the footpath, he heard the faint sound of a magically muffled engine turn on and saw invisible wheels carve a quick path through the grass and speed off.

Harry and Malfoy shuffled back to their car and drove into the place Wilson and Smith had occupied.

"What were those addresses you gave them?" Harry asked Malfoy when the engine was shut off.

"My favourite restaurants," Malfoy said, pulling out a bag of snacks from the glovebox. "Salt and vinegar pretzel?"

Harry grabbed a handful of pretzels and shoved them into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

"So, the smuggler we brought in didn't know anything, did he?"

"Potter, I think if you paid any less attention, you would be considered legally deaf. Does that bother you?"

"So that means we need to find the ringleader," Harry continued, clucking his tongue against his teeth as he thought it through.

"It would bother me. I think as a matter of pride more than anything else."

"And the ringleader is probably going to be difficult to find."

"I mean, seriously, Potter, people must think you're absolutely thick. Or that you have total disregard for anyone apart from yourself. Although you did save most of the wizarding world. That probably counts as a point in your favour."

"But maybe if we pin one of them down and threaten them, they might give us some useful information for the chance of a reduced sentence."

"Aren't you meant to be the moral one? Threatening someone over an arrest is still threatening someone. By the way, Potter, do you notice how I still listened to you while I was talking? That's one of the many ways I am superior to you. You should attempt to replicate it some time."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

They shuffled out of the car again and moved slowly up to the house, searching for a smuggler to apprehend. It didn't prove as simple as the last time.

They made their way carefully through the back door, but realised quickly that they needn't have been so concerned. The place was abandoned. Dingy wallpaper peeled from the walls, leaving streaks of dirt mixed with inexplicable burn marks from stray spells. The unmistakable odour of pot lingered thickly in the air. After a brief but thorough search, they moved back to the entry way and threw off the cloak, almost gasping at the sudden onset of oxygen.

"This cloak was easier when I was fourteen," Harry muttered.

"Well, we could use illusionment charms like normal Aurors," Malfoy suggested drily.

"The cloak is better," Harry said stubbornly.

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"If you want to go ahead and use a disillusionment charm, be my guest," Harry said sharply.

"Nice try, Potter. As if I'm going to walk into a dangerous situation with you more protected than I am. If you're under that stupid cloak, then I am too."

Something flew from the darkness of the house straight at Harry's head. He ducked quickly, while Malfoy reached out a hand and caught it. He held it far in front of his face and stared at it incredulously.

"Another potion?" Harry said, staring at the familiar glowing vial. "You have got to be kidding me."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say they were attracted to you," Malfoy said slowly.

Harry whipped his head up to look at Malfoy, recognising the tone in his voice.

Malfoy looked up at Harry, and then carefully looked around him at the corridor the vial had flown from. Halfway down the corridor was the door leading to the basement. They had checked it out and found it empty, shutting the door after them. There was now a small, potion-sized hole in the middle of the door.

Harry looked at Malfoy. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking, Potter, that maybe these potions might be working perfectly after all."

Harry pulled his wand and opened the door to the basement. On high alert, they made their way slowly down the stairs, Harry in the lead. The basement was still empty. The potion in Malfoy's hand was shaking violently.

Malfoy pointed toward a pile of crates in the corner. "Underneath that," he said quietly.

Harry knelt down and saw a small vial poking out from under the crate. He reached out for it, but Malfoy knocked his hand away.

"It's not an immunity potion," he said, all sense of dry sarcasm gone from his voice. He waved his wand and encased the vial in a small bubble. He muttered several spells before he finally floated the potion up and over to them.

"So, what is it?" Harry asked.

"One of her other potions," Malfoy said, his voice loaded with meaning. "It would seem she was a clever little witch, and thought to make immunity potions for her own concoctions, in case anyone tried to use them against her."

"Figured all that out upstairs, did you?"

"I wouldn't expect you to follow, Potter."

They checked the rest of the basement, but found nothing.

"Potter," Malfoy said slowly as they walked back up the stairs.

Harry looked at him warily.

"How much do you trust the people at the Ministry?"

"I don't even trust you, Malfoy, and I see you every day."

"Excellent. I propose we don't tell Wiffleston about any of this."

"Why?" Harry asked. "Not that I'm complaining."

"Because the only other time the potion tried to protect you was when we were at the Ministry." He looked at Harry, his eyes serious. "And we hadn't seized any of the smugglers' goods yet."

Harry's eyes narrowed as he realised what Malfoy was saying. "Silence it is, then."

 

**Chapter Four**

 

Harry passed through the wards outside his apartment, barely noticing as they rippled over his skin, and made his way inside. A note whizzed past his head as soon as he had shut the door behind him. He plucked it out of the air.

_Sorry, mate,_ Harry read in Ron's hasty scrawl. _We're going to have to cancel tonight. 'Mione's feeling sick. Did you know it can last all day? Why do they bloody call it morning sickness if it lasts all day? We'll have dinner another night though, yeah? I'll owl you._

Harry crumpled the note and threw it in the bin without looking. He hadn't been particularly looking forward to dinner, so he couldn't say he was upset it had been canceled on him, but now that the night stretched ahead of him with nothing to fill it, he couldn't say he was looking forward to that either.

He pulled out a bottle of Ogden's Old and poured himself a glass. He downed it quickly and cast a glance at the clock, wondering if six o'clock was too soon to go to sleep. Unfortunately, the answer was a clear 'yes'. He poured another glass and took it into the living room. After several minutes of silence overpowered by the ticking of the clock, he muttered a quick "accio" and caught the book that whizzed into his outstretched hand.

At first glance, it looked like an ordinary cookbook. A little dated, filled with quick and easy recipes, most likely gifted to someone for their first venture out of their parents' home. Certainly no longer necessary for an experienced twenty four year old. If you were to look inside it would appear much the same, except you would have a sudden and overpowering urge to do the ironing. Or the laundry. Or anything that meant you weren't there, right now, reading that book.

Harry was rather pleased with how his cloaking spell had worked. Even as he felt the leather case beneath his fingertips and turned the spidery pages of the spell-book, he felt a vague compulsion to do the dishes. He shook it off and turned to where he had last stopped reading: _Cruciatus And Its Variants_.

He had discovered the spellbook in Grimmauld place when he had spent several months moping there alone. It was around the time of his third year working for the Ministry, just before he had been assigned to work with Malfoy and bought his new apartment. It was during one of his first major cases - since his first two years of work were comprised of academy training - and he had been moping because the case had shocked him more than he was willing to admit.

At the time, Voldemort's reign of terror was recent enough that there were still a number of pockets of Death Eaters plotting to continue his work, and it had been just such a case that had nearly tipped Harry over the edge. It wasn't the Death Eaters that had shocked him - Harry figured very little could shock him in that respect - it was how the Ministry had handled it. Instead of investigating what the Death Eaters were working on, they had quarantined it, dismantled the spells without looking closely at what they were, and closed the case. When Harry had questioned why no one was making sure nothing further could come of the Death Eater's work, he had been politely but firmly told that the study of dark magic had no place in the Auror department. If there was reasonable cause to believe that the plot was bigger than the evidence before them, they could call in the Curse Breakers who could compile a report for a Dark magic expert. However, due to the infrequent need for such an expert and the necessity for the expert to be under constant surveillance to ensure they had not succumbed to the thrall of their dark magic, there were few available in Britain. Harry was informed that this case was not high profile enough to require such a complicated procedure.

So he went home and sulked. How could the Ministry hope to control what they didn't understand? And where was the trust? Surely if more people were aware of how dark magic worked, there would be less secrecy and less temptation? Learning about the spells wasn't the same as learning how to cast them. But he had known he would get nowhere with that particular argument, and so he hadn't bothered.

It was as he was sorting through belongings in the attic, trying to find items that had belonged to Sirius and items that could be discarded entirely, that he had stumbled on the book. Typically, there had been no attempt to hide it. Why would one hide a dark artifact in a house of Black? It had been simply tossed at the bottom of an old chest along with a number of magical items and forgotten. It had no title, but when Harry opened it he quickly realised it held a collection of spells that were beyond dark. Accounts of forgotten rites - performed by long dead ancestors - blood magic, and variations of the Unforgivables that spoke of a level of finesse that Harry was certain only Voldemort had held. Like a form of cruciatus that could be contained to singular organs, so the victim was forced to watch as their intestines dribbled slowly from between their legs.

Harry had quickly realised that the Dark Arts they had learned about at Hogwarts was child's play. And yet, as an Auror, he was expected to know nothing about the kind of curses he could be subjected to. And worse still, he was expected to turn a blind eye to anyone with dark magic potential, unless he could prove that they posed a threat on a national scale. And even then, he was expected to turn the evidence over to some crazy kook who spent their lives under strict Ministry observation.

Harry had spent the last four years quietly researching as much about the Dark Arts as he could without drawing attention to himself. It started out of righteous indignation, followed quickly by curiosity, until soon he found himself unable to stop collecting dark paraphernalia. His apartment was littered with so many cloaking spells and concealment charms that it was a wonder people could step foot inside with feeling an overwhelming desire to run home and sweep.

He had never told Ron or Hermione about his collection, because he had known they would worry about his health in such close proximity to so much dark magic, particularly after the effect the Horcruxes had had on all of them. Harry was sure it was perfectly fine - for starters, none of the items contained anyone's soul - but he didn't want to have that argument. And even when he had become friendly enough with Malfoy to feel comfortable talking about something like this, he hadn't mentioned it. Mostly because if the Ministry discovered that Malfoy had anything to do with the kind of items Harry carried, Harry was sure Malfoy would end up with a life sentence in Azkaban. But also because, by that point, the secrecy had become a habit. He liked having his books and artifacts to come home to, knowing that they were his. Only his. It gave him a thrill when nothing else seemed to anymore.

He had to admit though, after hearing Malfoy's knowledge about those potions, he wished he could discuss it with him. Potions was something he had never looked into deeply, and Malfoy seemed to know a lot about it, naturally.

A shiver suddenly ran through Harry as he felt someone trying to enter his wards. He recognised Malfoy on the other side and let him through the Floo, quickly sending the book back to the bookshelf where it rested innocuously among the other recipe books.

Malfoy stepped through and dusted ash from his pants. "Living it up, I see, Potter," he said casually as he finished brushing the now imaginary dirt from his clothing. "I thought-" he stopped suddenly as his eyes came to rest on Harry. His gaze became aware in a way that Harry realised - to his discomfort - he hadn't seen in years. "What are you doing?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Harry snapped, thinking warily of the book. There was no possible way Malfoy had seen him shelve it, and Malfoy had been to his apartment several times. There was no reason for him to detect the concealment charms now.

"You're hiding something," Malfoy said, looking around the room as if he could spot the offending item. To Harry's relief, he couldn't. After several long seconds, Malfoy turned back to Harry, his eyes narrowed.

"You're mental," Harry said lightly. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

Malfoy paused for another beat before preening. "I came to tell you that I'm already ahead of you on the score board."

"What?"

"I'm on a date, Romeo."

"Why, Malfoy, I had no idea," Harry said lazily, stretching back in his chair. "You should have told me this was a date. I would have bought you flowers."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Please, stop, you're killing me," he said drily. "We're meeting at the restaurant now. I just thought I would drop by to tell you that you're already failing miserably."

"I appreciate the thought," Harry said. "But I've got a date too."

"Oh, really?" Malfoy said, one eyebrow raised. "My mistake, I thought your right hand already had plans this evening."

Harry smirked and casually flicked his wand. "Diagon Alley at seven?" he told the silvery stag before it galloped away.

"That is inappropriate use of a patronus, Potter."

Harry made a rude noise with his lips. "It's convenient."

"Well I'll leave you to pine for your imaginary date, shall I?" Malfoy said with a sneer, just as silvery hare bounded enthusiastically into the room.

"That sounds lovely, Harry," the hare spoke with a gentle and attractive female voice. "Heels or flats?"

Malfoy frowned. "That voice sounds familiar," he muttered.

"Don't you need to be somewhere?" Harry asked.

Malfoy swore and jumped back into the fire. "Have fun on your date, Potter," he said with a smirk, although he still looked annoyed that Harry had pulled a date so quickly.

When Malfoy left, Harry quickly changed, ran a comb haphazardly through his hair, and apparated to Diagon Alley to meet Luna.

It didn't take long to spot her. She was wearing a short green dress with several layers of ruffles matched with bright purple heels. She also had a pair sneakers laced together and slung around her neck.

"Hiya, Harry," she said with a smile, waving and walking over to him. "You didn't specify, so I brought both."

Harry smiled, unable to help himself. "I think the shoes you're wearing on your feet look great," he said. "Unless they're uncomfortable. The sneakers are quite nice too, and I thought we'd have a relaxed dinner, not too fancy, so it'd be fine to wear them."

"Wonderful," Luna said, waving her hand and vanishing the sneakers. "I'll keep the heels for now. I can always switch later if my feet get sore. How have you been, Harry?" She linked her arm through his and let Harry lead them down Diagon Alley to a small restaurant he liked to go with his less snobbish dates.

They settled themselves in a corner, Luna complimenting the old oak tables, and ordered dinner and wine. Harry filled Lunda in on the case and Luna described in great detail the unsightly rash that was spreading through St Mungoes.

"But it's nothing to worry about," she assured him. "None of the Healers have caught it yet, so I'm sure I won't pass it on to you."

"Glad to hear it," Harry said faintly, contemplating whether he wanted to continue eating his steak and kidney pie. He decided he did and took a big mouthful.

"But, Harry," Luna said, gazing up thoughtfully at the chandelier which was glistening in the candlelight that emanated from the many tables. "You still haven't told me what's bothering you."

Harry grinned ruefully. He should have known Luna would guess something was wrong. "Malfoy thinks that someone at the Ministry might have something to do with these potions," he said, explaining briefly about the way the potions had acted at the Ministry building when there shouldn't have been any other smuggled goods there yet. Not to mention the forty-nine flying immunity potions that mysteriously joined the one from the car. "We're not really sure where to go from here."

"You could always check the secret passageways?" she suggested. "If I were hiding smuggled goods in the Ministry, that's where I would hide them."

Harry stared at her. "What passageways?"

"Oh, haven't you heard of them?" Luna asked, turning her attention away from the chandelier and back to Harry. "The building is full of them. You see, the building belonged to the Wizards' Council until 1707 when they were replaced by the Ministry of Magic. And it wasn't until ten years after that that the Ministry officially declared the Unforgivables as Unforgivables and closed down the departments dedicated to dark magic. But-"

"Dedicated to _what_?" Harry burst out.

"Dark magic, Harry," Luna said patiently. "Not to practice, of course, but to research and develop counter spells and shields. In 1707 the Ministry declared the work of the Dark Magic departments complete. They thought we had enough defensive spells, and there was therefore no reason to keep the departments open any longer. So they shut them all down, but the old members of the Wizards' Council complained that their work was being destroyed and kept working in secret, even when the departments were bricked up and locked away by magic. Of course, the Ministry eventually realised what they were doing and banished them, but no one ever found the passageways."

Harry shook his head slowly. "And what makes you think I will?"

"Well, someone already must have if they're hiding things in them," Luna said calmly. "And you found the Chamber of Secrets. I think you have a decent chance."

Harry laughed, still shocked. "How do you know all this?"

Luna's eyes widened innocently. "I thought everyone did."

They moved onto other, lighter topics and finished the meal.

"Thank you for a lovely evening, Harry," Luna said, giving him a kiss on the cheek as they prepared to apparate back home.

"You too, Luna," Harry said, smiling warmly. "I had a great time."

Luna nodded thoughtfully. "I think you did," she said. "Although you still haven't told me what's bothering you."

Harry frowned. "Yes I did," he said.

Luna shook her head. "You thought you did, but that wasn't it."

Harry shrugged, feeling suddenly uncomfortable under Luna's watchful gaze. "Maybe it's wrackspurts," he said lightly.

Luna laughed. "Don't be ridiculous, Harry. No wrackspurt would go anywhere near you when you're feeling like this. You're far too negative, even for a wrackspurt." She patted his arm gently. "But don't worry, I'm sure you'll figure it out. We should do this again soon, it was good to see you."

"Yeah, you too," Harry muttered, his head suddenly feeling fuzzy and uncomfortable.

Luna disapparated, leaving him alone in Diagon Alley. He disapparated quickly home and tried to forget the gentle concern in Luna's voice and the disturbed sensation it had left in him. He eventually succeeded enough to fall asleep.

 

**Chapter Five**

 

"Loony Lovegood so does not count, Potter," Malfoy drawled when Harry walked into their office the next morning. "It only counts as a date if you can score." A horrified look crossed his face. "You didn't score with Lovegood, did you?"

"You're insulting my friend, Malfoy," Harry said, passing him a fresh cup of takeaway coffee, one of the few Muggle luxuries Harry had managed to introduce to him, and sitting down at his desk. "She'd be a great girlfriend, but we're not interested in each other like that. And it still counts. The purpose of a date is not to 'score'. It's to enjoy time with someone of the opposite sex and see where it leads."

Malfoy frowned. "But you already said you weren't interested in each other."

Harry shrugged. "I wasn't interested in Ginny to begin with either. I figure I need to date someone before I can develop feelings for them."

A strange expression crossed Malfoy's face, but was gone just as quickly. He shook his head and sighed dramatically. "Then we're even. For now. But you can't use Lovegood again. They have to be different women."

Harry smirked. "Changing the rules already? Slytherin."

Malfoy took a sip of his coffee and immediately closed his eyes and groaned his approval. "What's this one, Potter? It tastes sweet."

"White chocolate mocha," Harry replied, taking a sip of his own caramel mocha.

Malfoy pulled a face at the name, but kept drinking. "Speaking of Slytherin and our undeniable superiority," he said after he had drained half his cup. "I've been testing the potion some more. I should have results soon. We need to find out what it was reacting to so that we can trace it and find out where the stash is. If we're lucky, it's an unrelated evidence stash that no one linked to this case. If we're not-" Malfoy trailed off.

Harry waved his wand at the door so that it shut quietly. "I was talking to Luna," he said. "And she had an interesting idea." He relayed Luna's story to Malfoy and waited for a reaction.

Malfoy frowned thoughtfully. "It's not impossible," he said. "The Wizard's Council wasn't happy with the changes the new Ministry introduced, but I never knew the changes were so severe."

"Yeah, imagine trying to study Dark Magic in the Ministry today," Harry said. "They'd never allow it." He couldn't keep the faintly bitter tone from his voice.

Malfoy stared at him. "No," he said slowly. He readjusted his seat so that he was sitting up straight, a shrewd expression on his face.

Harry shifted in his seat, trying to think of a change in subject.

"So where do we look first?" Harry asked.

"If you were going to be casting dark magic in a building full of innocent people, you'd need the wing to be far away from everyone else," Malfoy said. "Which would have made it easy to seal off. I think we need to go below the courtrooms."

Harry grunted. Malfoy was probably right. They both paused, contemplating what excuse they could give for prowling around the courtrooms. There really wasn't one. It was going to have to be the cloak.

"Well, ladies first, Potter," Malfoy said as Harry tucked his cloak into his pocket.

"Hang on," Harry said, searching around the room. "Do you have anything left in that potion you've been testing?"

Malfoy leaned behind his desk and plucked the immunity potion from one of his drawers. It was still more than half full.

Harry eyed it with distaste. "Keep it on you so we know if we're getting close," he said.

Malfoy sniffed his begrudging approval of the idea and they climbed out the window again.

This time there was no one around in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office when they climbed out, so they threw on the cloak and shuffled toward the elevator.

"As comforting as it is being under here with you, Potter," Malfoy hissed in Harry's ear. "Maybe we should have waited until we were at the Department of Mysteries. It's going to be difficult not to give ourselves away inside a bloody box." He nodded his head at the elevator.

"Too late now," Harry whispered back as the doors pinged open. Three witches exited quickly, and Harry and Malfoy shuffled in to the back of the lift.

The wizard standing by the numbers gave their corner a confused glance, which made Harry think they must have made a noise, but he shook it off and closed the doors. The elevator continued down.

Two floors later at the Department of International Magical Cooperation, the wizard by the button panel left and another wizard came on. Malfoy took the opportunity to quickly press the button for level nine, Department of Mysteries. Harry thought the wizard may have spotted it, but fortunately, given the level it was, it didn't elicit more than a curious glance.

One floor down, at the Department of Magical Transportation, three witches climbed on. Harry gritted his teeth, certain they were about to be stepped on, but Malfoy drew his wand and muttered " _Raschio"._ The witch who had been about to back into them immediately stopped walking and started scratching her back furiously.

"Argh," she muttered. "I hate new clothing tags." Her friends muttered sympathetically.

The elevator opened again and another wizard entered, along with a flock of memos. As Harry watched with vague disinterest, one of the memos suddenly stopped it's gentle meandering at the front of the lift and turned toward them. In a second it shot purposefully in their direction and started circling their heads excitedly.

Harry and Malfoy stared up at the memo in panic. One of the witches turned to watch the memo.

"Look," she said, nudging her friend.

Harry looked at Malfoy and mouthed "Shit".

Malfoy nodded furiously, his usual expression of relaxed cynicism replaced with alarm. The cloak was one of the Deathly Hallows. It should have been infallible. Unless…

Harry looked down suddenly and saw the very tip of his shoe poking out the bottom of the cloak. He grabbed Malfoy and pulled him down so that they were crouching. Malfoy opened his mouth in a reflexive protest, but luckily managed to shut it again without saying anything.

The memo stopped circling and floated back to the front of the elevator.

The two witches continued to stare at the back of the elevator curiously, but before they could think to investigate the empty space, the doors opened at the Atrium and they left.

Apparently, since no one entered the elevator, no one had a pressing need for the Department of Mysteries. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the door shut.

"That was close," he muttered to Malfoy, snatching the offending memo out of the air.

" _Revised training schedule: explosive and anti-explosive spells. 2pm,"_ he read aloud.

Malfoy made a noise of approval, his eyes gleaming.

"Settle down," Harry muttered, straightening the cloak as the doors opened.

There was no one waiting as they exited. Malfoy took the potion out of his pocket and eyed it warily. "What now, Savior?" he asked under his breath.

Harry hushed him. The long and eerie corridor still unsettled him, even after so many years. "The stairs are this way," he said, leading them to the stairs that would take them down to the courtrooms.

Malfoy eyed him curiously. Harry had made no attempt to hide his familiarity with the area, even though neither of them needed to come to the lower levels for their work, but he didn't enlighten Malfoy as to why. His memories of being on trial, or visiting trials in Dumbledore's memories, or even when he had come back for the Horcrux, gave him a strange feeling that he didn't like to acknowledge. Almost like nostalgia, but for something terrible. It felt wrong.

Two of the court rooms were in session, but there was no one in the corridor to see them. Still, they kept under the cloak and walked quietly. Twisting through the corridors, the light gradually dimmed until they reached another staircase. Harry had never been here before. He paused at the top of the stairs. Far below, he could faintly see a glimmer of metal bars from the first cell. He couldn't help but imagine Sirius here, waiting to be taken to Azkaban.

"What's wrong, Potter?" Harry heard Malfoy whisper. He looked up in surprise at the oddly perceptive tone in Malfoy's voice.

Seeing Malfoy's face inches from his own - not quite filled with concern, but not malicious either - made him remember just how hot and claustrophobic it was under the cloak.

"Nothing, let's go," he said, turning forward and starting down the stairs. The temperature dropped even further than the court rooms and a thin coat of slime oozed from the walls.

There was only one wizard in the cells. He sat upright on the floor, his legs crossed, facing the back wall. As they passed, Harry thought he could hear him muttering.

It wasn't long before they reached the end of the corridor. There was nothing but a blank wall in front of them.

"Well, this is probably where the blockage is," Malfoy muttered. "But the passages wouldn't be right next to the original entrance. That would be too easy for someone to find." He took the potion out of his pocket, but it was still. He put it back.

"Let's check the cells," Harry muttered back.

They moved into the closest cell and pulled the cloak off since they were out of sight from anyone in the corridor. They ran their hands along the walls, muttered spells, and stamped on promising looking stones. It was entirely useless, and Harry quickly felt like an idiot.

He looked over to see Malfoy running his hand through his hair, looking defeated.

"It always sounds so much easier in theory," he muttered. "How did you find the Chamber of Secrets, Potter?"

"Luck," Harry answered promptly.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I shouldn't have asked. Wasted breath, really."

"Don't suppose you know any murdered teenage girls in the area?" Harry asked.

"What?" Malfoy stared at him like he had gone insane.

"Nevermind."

Harry turned back to the wall.

"Password?"

"Say again?" Harry asked, looking back at Malfoy again.

"I didn't say anything," Malfoy said, frowning.

"Password?" the voice whispered again.

Harry swore violently and backed away from the corner, stumbling. Malfoy caught him just before he fell and shoved him upright. Harry glanced at him and saw that Malfoy was suddenly pale, his eyes fixated on the man sitting at the back of the room. The man was sitting just as he had been in the other cell, cross legged and facing the back of the room.

"You'd think Hogwarts would make you used to ghosts," Harry muttered as his heart rate came back under control.

"It's not a ghost," Malfoy said, looking considerably calmer. He pulled the potion out of his pocket and looked at it. It vibrated gently, glowing a bright green. Malfoy pocketed the vial, walked slowly passed the man, and faced him. "It's a portal."

Harry frowned and followed Malfoy. As he moved, the man seemed to move as well, so that no matter where Harry stood the man was facing the other way.

"He'll turn around when we give him the password," Malfoy continued. "And then I expect he'll lead us to the hidden passages."

"So," Harry said after a long pause. "It isn't that the Ministry can't find the passages. It's that they can't find the password?"

"I expect so," Malfoy said. "And I would imagine they are quite embarrassed by that, and so have kept the knowledge of the portal so hidden that few people, if any, know about it. In fact, their administration is so bad anyway that each case is documented by a different department. Most people who come down here probably think he is just a prisoner. And he can obviously change cells at whim, so it's not as though he is conspicuously stationary. If the cells weren't full, he could sit down here in this last cell for decades without anyone noticing."

Harry shuddered. "Well, let's not stick around, hey? We should go try and find the password."

Malfoy smirked as Harry pulled out his cloak. "What was that? Scared, Potter?"

Harry laughed and threw the cloak over both of them. "You wish."

 

**Chapter Six**

 

Back in the office, Harry and Malfoy discussed options for the password.

"Well it's definitely not going to be sherbet lemon this time," Harry muttered after they had bounced impromptu suggestions back and forth.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Care to explain?"

"Not really."

Malfoy humphed and went back to staring out the fake window. "We're not going to just stumble on it," he said. "I don't care what you did with the idiot duo back at Hogwarts. This is going to take skill."

"Hey, you have no idea what we did. It needed loads of skill."

Malfoy ignored him. "We need to research this. If the password was set by the Dark Magic department, presumably it will be something suitable. Fortunately, we have the Malfoy library at our disposal." He looked smug. Harry thought of his own library and assorted artifact collection at home - which would probably rival the Malfoy library - and said nothing. "If you come over tonight, Potter, we could do some research."

Harry hesitated. He rather felt he'd have more luck at home. "Thanks, but I might try asking Luna," he lied. "She might have some ideas."

Malfoy eyed him strangely. "You could owl her," he said. "And still do research."

Harry shook his head. "She's better in person when she can ramble on and remember things."

Malfoy's jaw ticked, but he said nothing.

Harry coughed. "So, we'll talk about it tomorrow? See what we both come up with?"

"Sure, Potter." Malfoy stood up. "We'd better get to training." He strode to the door and opened it.

Harry stood up slowly. "What's up your arse?"

Malfoy turned back, his lip curling. "Try to be a little more crude, Potter. I don't think I was offended enough."

"Fine, have it your way."

They walked to the training room in sullen silence. Harry kept shooting glances at Malfoy, but the same pursed expression remained on his face. Harry found himself frowning. It was unusual for Malfoy to be so emotional about anything - good or bad. Just like him, Malfoy faced each day with a cynical indifference that Harry found familiar and comforting.

"Join the line, boys!" Pickwick yelled at them as they entered the sparring room. "We're blowing each other up, today!"

A malicious grin crossed Malfoy's face as they joined the line of Aurors. Harry took a small step away from him. The room resembled a large auditorium, complete with training dummies, exercise equipment, and basic potions ingredients. They used it for a variety of Auror training to make sure they were up to date with all the latest spells and equipment. The ceiling was spelled like the Great Hall to show the sky outside, except it wasn't accurate like the Great Hall. Whether intentionally or not, the ceiling only ever showed the night sky, filled with planets and constellations, so that it always felt that they were training in some kind of obscure camping ground in the middle of nowhere.

"Wands at the ready!" Pickwick yelled, brandishing his own wand with a flourish and aiming it above their heads. "New spell, fresh off the shelf. Sharp, downward flick of the wrist. _Combustio!_ "

Purple flame shot from Pickwick's wand, promptly lighting the ceiling on fire. "That's the ticket," Pickwick said with a grin, watching the flames lick along the surface, lapping over stars and suns.

"Aguamenti," he muttered after it had burned for a while, running his hand back and forth to casually douse the flames. "When you're ready," he said once the flames had disappeared.

Several of the newer Aurors stood there, stunned. Harry and Malfoy waited patiently for Pickwick to remember he hadn't given them the counter spell.

"Oh, that's right!" Pickwick said, slapping himself on the head. " _Protego Eructo_ will cut off all oxygen to the flames and immediately douse them before injury." He looked around at the group, smiling. "Well, go on then," he said, making shooing motions.

"Ready, Potter?" Malfoy asked, curling his lip. That was all the warning Harry had before Malfoy turned and hexed him.

" _Protego Eructo!_ " Harry yelled, cutting the flames off just in time.

Malfoy smirked and cast it again. Harry threw it off three more times before Pickwick's enthusiastic applause finally reached Malfoy's ears and made him stop.

"Perfect, boys!" he grinned. "Now you just-"

" _Combustio!_ " Harry yelled, flicking his wand at Malfoy.

Malfoy turned with lightning reflexes and repelled the hex. Harry threw it again and again, but Malfoy repelled just as quickly. When Harry paused, seeing Pickwick look uncharacteristically hesitant, Malfoy took advantage and cast again. Harry repelled and threw up a shield charm, eying Malfoy cautiously. Malfoy lowered his wand and glared.

"Truce," Harry said, holding up his hands.

Malfoy nodded.

"Observation for the rest of the session," Pickwick said, nodding firmly.

Harry paused and lowered his shield. "You alright?" he asked Malfoy.

Malfoy grunted and Harry decided not to press it. They spent the rest of the hour observing the other Aurors' mostly terrible attempts at _Combustio_ , and learning how to cast several variants without actually practicing. Pickwick wouldn't let them.

At the end of the session, Pickwick took them aside. "Whatever issues you have, leave them outside of the training room," he said sternly. "You'll have plenty of distraction on the field. This is a learning environment. Your safety is number one."

Harry made a supreme effort not to laugh at the idea of Pickwick caring about safety. Against all odds, he succeeded. They agreed to focus and left.

"Right, well, I'm going to go home," Harry said when they had returned to their office. "Let me know how you go researching."

"Sure thing, Potter," Malfoy said. He reached over to grab Harry's bag and passed it to him. "Good luck," he said.

Harry fought the urge to gape at such an oddly contrite gesture from Malfoy, and nodded instead. "Yeah, you too."

Malfoy nodded and turned back to his desk. Harry shook his head, and left.

"What was that about?" he muttered to himself as he opened the wards and passed through into his house. He threw his bag down on the floor, but frowned when he saw the front zip was undone. "Damn," he said, opening it up to look inside. "Must have forgotten to put the cloak back." He shook his head and walked away. At least it would be safely in his office.

After casting a furtive look around the room, even though no one was there, he removed the cloaking charm on the bookshelf by the window.

"Goblin curses, Centaur rites, Illegal potions," he said to himself as he scanned the items on the shelf, considering the topics each covered. What would they have used for a password?

"I fucking knew it." Harry jumped at the sound of the cold voice behind him. He spun around to see Malfoy standing next to him, the invisibility cloak in his hands. His eyes were glued to the bookshelf Harry had unveiled, his expression a strange mix of anger and something Harry couldn't identify.

"What the hell, Malfoy?" Harry exclaimed, waving his wand to hide the bookshelf again.

Malfoy punched him, disrupting the spell. "Oh no you don't, Potter. You're not hiding this again. No one knows about this, do they? How much more do you have?"

"This is it," Harry said, rubbing his shoulder.

Malfoy laughed. "You have an apartment full of the most illegal black magic galleons can buy and you can't even tell a decent lie. How much more do you have?"

Harry shook his head stubbornly. Before Harry could react, Malfoy pulled out his wand.

" _Combustio!_ " he spat, pointing his wand at the bookshelf.

"No!" Harry yelled as it went up in flames. Several books screamed, long and bloodcurdling. He fumbled for his wand to put out the flames.

Water dripped quietly onto the floor in the sudden silence as Harry stared, horrified, at the remains of the bookshelf. It was salvageable. Nothing was lost - or even too damaged, since he had been quick enough to stop it - but what had once been a beautiful part of his collection now looked ugly and deformed. One of the books was bleeding, thick drops of blood mixing with the water on the floor.

"I'll ask you again," Malfoy said quietly. "How much more do you have?"

"I'll ban you from the wards, Malfoy," Harry said through gritted teeth. "You'll never be able to get back in."

"Do you really think you can get me out of here before I send this apartment up in flames?" Malfoy asked, one eyebrow raised. "Do you want to take that risk?"

Harry glared at him mutely. Finally, he waved his wand and muttered "Finite".

Malfoy gaped as the room rearranged itself. Items that were hidden came into sight, squeezing into existence from space that didn't exist or popping suddenly into view. Shrunken heads dropped down from the ceiling, bouncing morbidly from string and grinning all the while. Several bookcases and potion cabinets stretched their way along the walls. In the corner of the room, a tall mirror stood. It reflected every piece of furniture with crystal clarity, not a speck of dust marring its surface, but Malfoy and Harry were not visible in its serene reflection. The room settled with a sigh.

Malfoy opened his mouth and closed it several times. "Potter," he said slowly. "You absolute, total, complete-" Harry rolled his eyes at the drama. Trust Malfoy to be impressed. "-utter bloody moron."

Harry's head snapped up. "What?"

Malfoy was still shaking his head slowly. "Do you have any idea what this is doing to you? No, of course you don't, you grew up with Muggles."

Harry bristled. "It isn't doing anything to me," he said. "Trust me, I'd know. You can feel when dark magic is seeping into you. It's not like the Horcruxes. This feels fine."

Malfoy was watching him, expressionless. He didn't speak. Harry shrugged. "I didn't tell you because I figured it could get you in trouble with your probation. It's not like I was hiding it for any other reason."

"Right," Malfoy said, deceptively complacent. "You weren't hiding it from Granger or Weasley either, were you? Not at all."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I haven't mentioned it to them, but I'm not hiding it. They tend to overreact. It was easier not to tell them and have them worry."

Malfoy barked out a harsh laugh. "You haven't even tried to shield yourself from them," he said incredulously. "You've hidden them from everyone else, but you feel them just as strongly as if they were visible. No wonder I couldn't come over here without feeling an overwhelming urge to sweep or something. I thought your apartment was just unbearably messy. I'm an idiot. Your apartment is more concealment charm than it is apartment."

Harry tipped his head back in exasperation. "I don't need to shield myself from them. I've read about it, Malfoy. I'm not as ignorant as you think I am. They're mine, so they aren't as malicious to me as they no doubt feel to you. We're used to each other."

Malfoy groaned and ran his hand through his hair, his eyes closed. "I knew you had something hidden here, but I didn't know it was this bad."

Harry frowned. "How did you know, anyway?"

"I smelled it yesterday," Malfoy said, his eyes still closed. "Dragon's blood, used to tan leather in the binding of most old curse books. You obviously didn't shield whatever you were reading quick enough." He opened his eyes. "Mind you, I should have realised quicker." He waved a hand vaguely at Harry. "Your whole demeanor is affected. It was bloody obvious as soon as I was looking for it. I've no idea how I didn't see it earlier." He looked thoughtful, and strangely worried.

"No need to worry," Harry said moodily. "I'm sure you're not losing your touch."

Malfoy shot him a look that was possibly even more annoyed than before and shook his head. "You need to get these out of your house, Potter." He held up his hands. "I won't make you get rid of them, as I'm sure Granger and Weasley would, but you need them out. It's a compromise, or I burn this whole place to the ground. Do we have a deal?"

Harry glared at him. Right now, he didn't exactly have a choice. "Sure," he finally spat out. "Deal." He spun around and sat down in his armchair. "But we may as well look for the password first. Any ideas?"

Malfoy didn't look entirely happy with the decision, but seemed to let it pass for now. He perched on the edge of the couch and looked around the room. "It's certainly a good place to start," he admitted.

 

**Chapter Seven**

 

Harry could feel Malfoy studying him. He bit his teeth slowly together in an effort not to say anything, but it was no use.

"What?!" he finally snapped, dropping his book down onto his lap hard enough to hurt and looking up at Malfoy.

Malfoy grinned, not even making an effort to pretend he wasn't watching Harry. "This is not a sight I expected to see," he said. He leaned back in the armchair and let the book he was half-reading fall into his lap, abandoned.

"What? Me reading a book?" Harry asked drily, completely used to Malfoy's jabs at his intelligence. "I know it may shock you, but I'm quite good with the alphabet. I can even make full sentences."

Malfoy smirked and shook his head. "No, that's not what shocks me. What shocks me is seeing the Ministry's poster boy familiar enough with a Heroldric text to understand the complicated page order without a reference sheet." He drummed his fingers slowly on the chair and narrowed his eyes.

Harry paused. Malfoy must have been watching him for a very long time to pick up on that. And of course, he was right. Heroldric texts were designed to be read non-linearly, both in page and line order. After four years, Harry was more than familiar with the method, but by just that small gesture he had shown Malfoy that this was more than a simple dark artifact collection.

He shifted uncomfortably. "What's the point in having a collection like this if you don't use it?" he asked.

Malfoy's eyebrows shot up almost comically.

"I didn't mean like that," Harry corrected hastily. "I meant that you need to spend time understanding this stuff so that you can defeat it. I don't want to use it against anyone, but I need to know how it works. I feel safer knowing how it works."

Malfoy was watching him very closely now. "Safer," he repeated, his voice emotionless. "Alright then. Just how safe do you feel, with an apartment full of malevolent artifacts? Out of ten. Give us a rating since you're so sure you know everything."

Harry pushed the book off his lap and stood up, agitated. "Don't be a dick about this, Malfoy. I feel fine. We need to be focusing on this password anyway. I already told you I'd store the collection somewhere else. I'll put it back at Grimmauld Place. I never sold the damn thing anyway." He ran his hand through his hair and moved to stand in front of the fire place.

"Why didn't you leave the collection there in the first place?" Malfoy persisted. "You could have easily stored it all there and simply Floo'd over when you wanted to read something. Why keep it where you live?"

" _Because I like having it here!"_ Harry snapped, glaring at Malfoy. It wasn't until he registered the shock on Malfoy's face - and the slight tinge of fear - that he realised what it was about his words that had sounded strange even to his own ears. He may have lost the innate ability to speak and understand Parseltongue, but it was, after all, like any other language. What he had already learned was stored in his memory, and certain words and phrases resurfaced when needed. And like it always had been in the past, the language came so naturally when his emotions were at their strongest.

"Care to repeat in English, Potter?" Malfoy's face was expressionless once again.

"I like it here," Harry said stiffly. He didn't elaborate. How could he? Anything he said would sound like weak justification. Malfoy didn't understand, that was all. Which was bizarre, really. Of all people, he would have thought he could rely on Malfoy to empathize.

There was a long silence. "Nonetheless," Malfoy said finally. "You should move it. And if you don't, I tell Granger."

"Why don't you call her Weasley?" Harry said, exasperated and latching onto any other possible topic.

Malfoy stood up and made a big show of brushing down his robes. "She'll always be Granger to me," he said airily, before walking to the fireplace.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked with a frown.

"Home," Malfoy said, reaching for a pinch of Floo powder.

"What about the password? We haven't found anything yet."

"Speak for yourself," Malfoy said with a grin, pausing and casting a glance back at Harry.

Harry rolled his eyes. "There is no way you've already found the answer in that random book you picked up."

"Correct," Malfoy said, turning back to face him properly. "The Wizards' Council would never pick some ridiculous dark word as their password." He twisted his fingers into sarcastic quotations beside his face at the word 'dark'. "That isn't how dark magic works. Dark magic works on power, emotion, intent. Words feed it, but by no means shape it."

Harry frowned. "Of course, but we still need to find the words to enter."

"No," Malfoy said with a sigh. "We need to find the blood to enter. I dismissed the idea of a blood oath from the start, since it seemed far too implausible that the Ministry couldn't have succeeded in passing through. But watching you read that book reminded me of something, Potter." Malfoy's eyes turned dark. "Power, emotion, intent," he said quietly. "Those Ministry idiots would never be able to fool the gate keeper into thinking they truly shared the zeal of their predecessors."

"What makes you think we can?" Harry asked.

Malfoy laughed, surprise registering on his features. "I know I say this a lot, Potter, but you really are dense," he said, before taking a pinch of powder and Flooing home.

A brief memory of the Mirror of Erised popped into Harry's mind. Power, emotion, intent. Desire. _Only a person who wanted to find the Stone - find it, but not use it - would be able to get it._ Harry shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Dumbledore was one of the strongest wizards alive, it made sense that the spell he spoke of so dismissively could be akin to one powerful enough to keep the Ministry at bay for centuries. Harry only wondered why the line between light and dark again seemed so blurred.

Unfortunately, the next day presented no easy opportunity for Harry and Malfoy to escape to the portal. Instead, they were relegated to their office where Wiffleston presided over them at random intervals of the day to ensure their report was "shaping up nicely".

"That's it," Harry snapped, throwing his quill down and standing up abruptly, sometime into their second hour. "I'm getting food. Want anything, Malfoy?"

Malfoy shook his head, frowning down at his parchment. "Would you say we apprehended the smuggler with ostentatious charm or scintillating wit?" he asked without looking up.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Can it be something that doesn't make me sound like a gigantic twat?" he asked.

"Oh this bit isn't about you," Malfoy said, waving a hand dismissively. "You stood off to the side in oafish stupidity."

"Excellent," Harry said. "Just for that, you're getting a tuna sandwich. With pickles."

"Thanks, dear," Malfoy said, still not looking up. "Extra mustard?"

Harry rolled his eyes again and slammed the door behind him.

He had become rather fond of the small wizarding cafe tucked between two Muggle banks across the road from the Ministry. Largely, this was because their popularity meant they had to serve him so quickly that almost no one had a chance to gawk, and partly it was because the staff were so distracted that they ignored him to the point of rudeness. It was the perfect relationship.

Unfortunately, today there was a new waitress.

Harry opened his mouth to give his order, and paused, frowning, as he took in the open hostility on her face. "Two chicken focaccias and two lattes with an extra shot, please," he finished slowly.

The blonde girl behind the counter raised one eyebrow slightly. She looked pointedly at his scar. "And I expect the Saviour will be wanting that extra fast? Is that right?"

Harry blinked slowly. "No," he said. " _Harry_ would like that whenever it comes."

"Do you always talk about yourself in third person?" she asked with a smirk, writing down his order and flicking it over to the barista with a wave of her wand. "Typical. Just as arrogant as I thought you'd be."

After a beat, Harry laughed. "If arrogance is what it takes to get people to leave me alone, sure," he said, turning away to wait near the coffee machine.

To his amazement, the girl winked at him. "Well, now you've just given me the key to how I can annoy you even more. Consider my day complete."

Harry stumbled slightly, since by this point he was no longer looking where he was going. He quickly turned and walked away.

By the time his foccacias were toasted, the blonde waitress had pointed out his inconspicuous waiting position - behind the oversized lamp - to three starstruck customers and one small child. Children were the worst. Harry wasn't sure his hearing would ever return to perfect; noises simply weren't meant to be that high pitched.

When the barista handed over his paper bag and cups, Harry snatched it with a final glare in the direction of the waitress. It didn't even surprise him when she winked again. He opened his mouth to say something - possibly, "Why? Goddammit, why?" - when he decided he wouldn't give her the satisfaction. Just before he made it out of the cafe, he saw her smile cheekily and mouth the words "call me".

He sincerely missed the simplistic Hogwarts days when he would have been able to throw a Bat-Bogey hex with repercussions that were no worse than a detention.

Malfoy looked up in surprise as Harry stormed back through the door. Noting Harry's expression, he smirked before quickly adopting an expression of pure sympathy. "They give you skinny instead of full cream? What is the world coming to?"

"That little-" Harry muttered, slamming Malfoy's order down on the desk. "What was her problem?"

Malfoy looked genuinely confused. "What happened, Potter?"

"What happened?" Harry asked loudly. "I'll tell you what happened. That new girl has a stick so far up her-" he paused. "You know," he said thoughtfully. "She was actually quite attractive."

Malfoy's eyes sharpened for a second before he leaned back in his chair. "What are you talking about?" he asked casually.

Harry set his own order down on his desk and perched on the corner to consider. "If she had acted like any other smitten fan, I would have blown her off completely," he said slowly. "But she's definitely made an impression. Maybe that's what she was doing. There's no way she could really have that big a chip on her shoulder about me." He frowned. "Unless I did something to her without knowing. Maybe I did." He shook his head. "Well, I guess I'm going to have to go back and find out. I can't let her get away with acting like such a-"

" _What_ are you dribbling about?" Malfoy interrupted.

"The cafe has a new waitress," Harry said, looking at Malfoy for the first time since he'd walked in. "I might ask her out."

Malfoy's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "You? Ask someone new out? Merlin, Potter. What did she do? Give you a free strip tease with your coffee?"

Harry wrinkled his nose. "No. She insulted me."

Malfoy's eye twitched. "She insulted you."

"Yeah," Harry laughed. "Now that I think about it, it was kind of hot."

"I insult you all the time," Malfoy said drily. "With logic like that, you should be wrapped around my little finger."

Harry laughed. "You're not a woman, Malfoy."

A muscle in Malfoy's jaw ticked, but Harry was too busy opening his lunch to notice.

"What does she look like?" he spat out when Harry didn't say anything else.

"Fiery eyes," Harry mumbled around his food. "Soul of the devil. Blonde. I suppose I do have a thing for blondes after all."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. " _I'm_ blonde," he said, the words sounding as though he had barely unclenched his teeth to speak.

Harry laughed, looking up at him again. "What are you dribbling about, Malfoy?" he asked. "You should go check her out, she's really-"

Malfoy stood up abruptly and threw his quill down on the desk. He picked up his lunch and walked to the door.

"What the hell?" Harry asked, suddenly sitting up straight and frowning. "What's up with you?"

"Nothing at all," Malfoy said airily, opening the door. "Though I must say, Potter, I'm considering redefining you from 'oafishly stupid' to 'cretinously oblivious'."

With that, he stepped into the hallway and slammed the door behind him.

 

**Chapter Eight**

 

Harry waved his wand and watched as his collection rematerialized. He had promised Malfoy he would move it all tonight, but as the shelves and assorted pieces popped into existence, he found himself strangely reticent. He knew that they would only be a Floo away, but why did he have to do even that? If they could be so close as to be a Floo call away, surely it didn't matter that they were in his apartment?

Malfoy had to be overreacting. He was probably terrified that the Ministry would find the collection, and that Malfoy's probation would then be ruined. Harry supposed that was a fair reason to be scared. The only solution, really, was to hide the items further.

He waved his wand and began strengthening the concealment charms. The shrunken heads would be able to fit inside his pouches with the Undetectable Extension Charm on them, and that would help mute some of their magical scent. And maybe if he placed a bottle of Amortentia on his bookshelves, it could help mask the odour of dragon's blood that had given him away to Malfoy in the first place. He'd have to investigate that.

Of course, he couldn't tell Malfoy that he hadn't moved the collection, because Malfoy would only worry that the Ministry would find out. So he'd have to convince him that he had moved it all. Really convince him, so that he didn't come to check for himself. Well, Malfoy seemed convinced that the items were somehow affecting Harry, so if Harry took a Pepper Up potion, maybe Malfoy would think he had done as he had promised.

Harry felt the slightest bit guilty when he remembered that, after all, he _had_ promised Malfoy. But it was short-lived. Really, what right did Malfoy have to stick his nose into Harry's life? They were partners at work, but that was all. So long as Harry made sure that his hobbies didn't get Malfoy in trouble, Malfoy could hardly complain.

With a final wave of his wand, Harry made sure that everything was hidden once again.

* * *

The next day, when Wiffleston had left the office for "carrot sticks and a glass of hot water with a slice of lemon", Harry and Malfoy took the opportunity to test out their new theory. They took the cloak again, and shuffled through the corridors and down to the basement level.

"Awful lot of Aurors on duty," Malfoy muttered as they passed their fourth on the way down the stairs.

"Yeah. Any idea why?" Harry asked.

Malfoy shook his head, nearly colliding with Harry since they were so close together. "Have to ask Wiffleston."

They made it down to the cells without any trouble and threw off the cloak.

"Merlin, Potter, you're fidgety today, aren't you?" Malfoy said, watching as Harry crumpled the cloak in several different ways before he was happy with the way it would fit into his pocket.

"Just got a good sleep," Harry said, smiling brightly as they walked further into the cells.

Malfoy studied him, but there was a note of approval in his gaze. Harry silently thanked the three Pepper Up potions he had drunk before work and turned away.

The man - or portal, really, though Harry couldn't think of him like that - was in the last cell, where they had left him.

"Password?" he rasped as they entered.

"So, just prick the finger, you reckon?" Harry asked dubiously.

Malfoy snorted. "Just prick the finger," he mimicked. "Potter, have you _ever_ heard of a dark spell that required something so hackneyed as just a prick of the finger? No. Have some ceremony, for Merlin's sake."

Harry gritted his teeth. "Actually, Malfoy, as we're both well aware, I'm quite familiar with _many_ dark ceremonies. None of which technically require the complete arsing about that they claim to need."

Malfoy smirked. "I'll chalk you one up for a technicality, Potter, but remember what I said: power, emotion, intent. If you insist on just pricking your damn finger, make sure you mean it."

Harry shot Malfoy a glare, surprising himself with the emotion behind it. For reasons he could barely explain, he was suddenly furious. How dare Malfoy lecture him? How dare Malfoy act as though he knew more than Harry about dark magic? Malfoy's family was dark, but Malfoy was a coward. He might have been present for various rites and spells, or had them recounted to him, but Harry could perform them in his sleep. Not that he would, of course, but that was beside the point.

In a strangely distant part of his mind, Harry acknowledged that he hadn't felt this strongly about anything for quite some time. The feeling had simply surged up out of him like it had a will of its own.

He pulled his sleeve up roughly and raised his wand. Keeping his eyes locked on Malfoy - whose expression had made only the slightest shift into uncertainty, so small Harry wasn't even sure he had seen it - he muttered the spell and dragged his wand over his wrist.

Heavy drops of blood flowed in rivulets down his hand and dripped onto the stone floor. Harry watched them fall, his mind still racing in this strange fury.

"As I take your secrets, I give you my own," he uttered without thinking. This time it was no surprise when the words hissed through his mouth in remembered Parseltongue.

He sealed the cut on his wrist and looked up at Malfoy, who was watching him with an unreadable expression.

"Who knew you had it in you, Potter," Malfoy said finally, raising his own wrist. "Very dramatic." He cast his hex roughly, spitting it out like an expletive, and sliced through his skin just below the Dark Mark. "Read my skin and know my heart," he said through gritted teeth.

Harry frowned. "That wasn't what I said," he protested.

"Potter, you utter, utter moron," Malfoy said, shaking his head as he healed his wrist. "Of course it wasn't what you said. It wasn't a secret code. It was an oath, plain and simple. We aren't likely to be promising the same things here, and besides, if they read your skin they'd get bored pretty quickly." He held up his forearm, the dark snake writhing gently. "If they read mine, things get interesting."

Before Harry could respond, the man stood. Harry and Malfoy turned to watch. Harry was fairly sure he wasn't the only one holding his breath.

The man turned. Harry had the briefest glimpse of two dead eyes hidden by dirty hair, before the man's mouth opened. It stretched wider and wider until the man's face bent back upon itself, and the deep cavern of his mouth filled the space where his body had been. Instead of a man, there was just a portal, so dark that nothing could be seen through it.

Harry shuddered.

"Well, that was probably the creepiest thing I've ever seen," Malfoy said lightly, his mouth twisted into a faintly horrified grimace. "I guess the portal has accepted our offerings then."

"Do we have to do that every time?" Harry asked, not particularly keen for the ritual to be repeated.

"Shouldn't, but who knows?" Malfoy stepped forward. "Come on then, we don't have all day. Wiffleston will run out of carrot sticks soon."

Harry stepped forward, and together the passed through the portal.

* * *

On the other side of the portal, it was pitch black.

"Lumos," Harry muttered, holding up his wand. It lit to show a long stone corridor, similar in style to the dungeons, but lacking the same dank wetness that had characterised the cells. Instead, the corridor felt musty and unused. Small alcoves nestled every few metres, but the torches within had long since rotted away.

Harry and Malfoy shared a glance before silently moving forward.

"Potter," Malfoy muttered quietly, as their footsteps fell muffled on the stone floor. "I'm not sure that anyone has been here recently. Look at the dust."

Harry eyed the thick layer of dust and dirt beneath their feet. They had been walking slowly to avoid kicking it up into the air, so it was easy to see that theirs were the only footprints. "There are ways to disguise that," he replied.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Sure, but why bother? They have to make a blood oath just to get in here. A convincing, believable, oath that meets the requirements of the founders."

"Well, whoever is digging up this potion stash is surely going to be okay with dark magic," Harry replied drily.

"I'm relatively confident that the wizards behind this department would have made it accessible only to those with a strong desire to research dark magic," Malfoy corrected him, raising an eyebrow slightly as if Harry had said something particularly stupid. "They were hardly going to want their secrets made readily available to the criminals they were trying to study."

Harry didn't bother to respond. They kept walking until the corridor reached steps that, strangely, lead up. Just as they set foot on the bottom step, a thud echoed from the top of the stairwell.

Harry froze. Sharing another glance, the pair went silent and began to climb quietly. Harry was expecting the stairs to open onto another corridor, but when they reached the top of the stairs the space opened immediately into a large, circular room.

Harry's jaw dropped. The room looked how Harry's apartment would look without concealment spells. Bookcases lined the walls, while the centre of the room was taken up with what looked like a small potions laboratory. Strange instruments were scattered around the room, either on the floor or on small benches.

"Well, whatever made the noise is going to know we're here," Malfoy said quietly. "We're not exactly hidden. You may as well make it brighter."

Harry spotted several torches around the room, presumably saved by whatever spell had been left in the area to preserve the books and instruments, and lit them with a wave of his wand. The room looked less threatening in the gentle light, and more like a classroom at Hogwarts.

Movement in one of the bookcases caught Harry's eye. He spun around and froze in shock as the pale figure moved through. It stopped in front of the bookcase.

"I must say, this is a surprise," the ghost muttered, peering at the two of them through thick spectacles. "I didn't know we were getting any new recruits." The ghost turned back to the wall he had floated through and yelled. "Barnaby, did you know we were getting new recruits?"

"New shoes?" came a disgruntled voice, muffled through the stone. "What the bleeding hell would we need new shoes for? I swear, Reginald, sometimes I'm quite sure your brain rotted away with your body." A new ghost passed through the bookcases a little to the left of the first, and came to a halt as soon as he saw Harry and Malfoy. His eyes widened.

Both ghosts were dressed in formal wizarding robes that were similar to the Ministry standard today, but significantly frillier. Harry caught Malfoy eying them off with distaste.

"Well," Barnaby blustered. "Fancy that. Fresh meat, as it were." He swooped over to them with alarming haste and extended his hand. "Barnaby Wilston, Research Librarian. Pleasure to meet you."

Harry held out a hand cautiously to Barnaby's own. Barnaby didn't seem perturbed when Harry's hand passed through, and moved quickly onto Malfoy who did the same, his face stiffly polite.

"And this here is Reginald Twoffle. Research assistant."

Reginald flew over to them and nodded formally. Before they could say a word, he turned again and screeched at the top of his lungs. "Mildred!"

Harry could immediately hear someone grumbling in the distance. In a few moments, a smartly dressed witch - much younger than the other two - emerged from a cauldron in the centre of the room.

"What is all this racket?" she snapped. "You'll wake the dead, which I assume was likely your intent, and quite rude indeed since the dead were happily sleeping." She stopped when she saw Harry and Malfoy. "Well, well, well," she said quietly. "Our first intruders. Explain yourselves."

"We're searching for something," Harry said, meeting Mildred's stare. "But if you say we are your first intruders, perhaps what we're searching for isn't here."

"Quite," Mildred sniffed. "It has been blessedly peaceful these last centuries. You are the first to disturb our contemplation."

"Good thing too, by the look of it," Malfoy muttered. Fortunately, Reginald wailed over the top of him, and so no one but Harry heard.

"Oh, let them stay, Mildred," Reginald complained. "We're so lacking in company. Perhaps they could retrieve some new texts for us?"

Barnaby nodded with surprising enthusiasm. "I could compile a list very quickly," he added. "In fact, I've already one written on the topics we need. It would only take a moment."

Mildred held up a hand. "Our department has been closed," she reminded them sadly. "What research we do will never see the light of day, and I hardly think these two wizards have come here to change that." She looked at them sharply.

"Well," Harry said slowly, overwhelmed by Mildred's piercing gaze and the other two ghosts' forlorn expressions. "We haven't, but that's not to say-"

"You see?" Mildred announced, waving her hand at Harry and Draco. "We do not have what they are looking for, and they will not give us what we are looking for. It is best, gentlemen, never to hope too quickly." She turned immediately and headed for the back wall.

"Hang on," Harry said quickly, ignoring the sharp punch to the ribs Malfoy gave him. "If you give us the list, we can see what we can do."

"Fantastic!" Barnaby cried, and disappeared through the floor.

Malfoy groaned.

In a few seconds, Barnaby was back, a slip of parchment floating before him. Harry took it from the air.

"Anything you can find would be most appreciated," Barnaby said as Harry ran his eyes over the list. "And if anyone comes searching for us to hide something away, we'll make sure to return the favour and inform you."

"Thanks, I appreciate it," Harry said, looking up to see Mildred poised, waiting before the back wall, her head partly turned their way. "We'll do what we can."

"Which we're sure will be nothing," Mildred said tightly, still only partly facing them. "Do not over-exert yourself on this fool's errand. We will not be waiting."

Barnaby's face fell, but he nodded reassuringly. "We have time on our side." He smiled. "If you never return, we'll know that it is simply best to wait another century or two until someone seeks us out again."

Harry nodded slowly and did his best to ignore Malfoy's tapping foot on the ground beside him.

"We'll do what we can," he repeated. "Until- until next time." He waved awkwardly and backed toward the stairs.

Malfoy turned and grabbed him by the arm, effectively frog-marching him down the stairs and back to the portal.

"You're a git," Malfoy hissed. "Stupid Gryffindor. The worst kind. Stop trying to help everyone. We've no business here anymore, it was a dead end."

Harry shrugged his arm free. "I know," he agreed. "But I felt bad. Look, I'll only go back if I find anything useful."

Malfoy grabbed him and spun him around until they were face to face. "The last thing you need is to come here," he said seriously, all trace of banter and sarcasm gone from his voice. "There is nothing in that room that you need, and being surrounded by new dark material that is not familiar with your magical trace will only drain your body more. You've only just cleared your apartment. Give yourself some time to adjust. I think you'll find that you don't have quite the same urge to build your collection as you once did." He dropped Harry's arm and stepped back.

Harry stared at him, unsure of what to say. He ended up simply shaking his head - protesting what, he wasn't sure - and stepping through the portal.

 

**Chapter Nine**

 

As Harry was packing up his desk ready to leave for the evening, he noticed Malfoy studying him. Since he was fairly sure why, he ignored him.

"Need a hand finishing the big move?" Malfoy asked finally, leaning back against the desk.

Harry made an effort not to react. He needed a way to convince Malfoy not to come back to his house. He had run home at lunchtime with some Amortentia and dotted it around the house as a last ditch effort in case he couldn't give Malfoy a good excuse, but he didn't want to rely on that.

"Nope, all done," he said, knowing it wouldn't be enough.

"Really?" Malfoy asked raising an eyebrow. "All in one night. I'm impressed, Potter. You don't want me to come by? Make sure you didn't miss a few things? I'm more than happy to help." He smiled in a way that Harry had to admit was slightly terrifying. All teeth and nothing behind the eyes.

"I'm sure, Malfoy," Harry said calmly, standing up and looking him in the eyes. "Besides," he added, silently cursing the fact that this was the only excuse he could come up with on short notice, "I was going to go back to the cafe and see if I was imagining whether or not that girl was interested."

Malfoy's smile became even more terrifying. "Well, I'd better join you for that at least," he said, pushing away from the desk. "Make sure you don't embarrass yourself."

Harry snorted. He hadn't expected that, but at least Malfoy wasn't insisting on coming by his apartment.

"Fine," he said, finishing tidying up. "Let's go."

They crept past Wiffleston's office and down to the elevators. Malfoy stopped just before they reached them and pointed to an Auror standing discretely in the corner.

"Mosley?" Malfoy said, looking him up and down. "You're on duty, yes?"

Mosley nodded, his expression slightly alarmed.

"Why?" Malfoy asked bluntly, frowning. "There have never been so many Aurors on guard."

"Low level security alert, sir," Mosley replied cautiously. "I think the memo was only sent to first year graduates, since it was only a code yellow."

Malfoy nodded thoughtfully before turning back to the elevator. Harry frowned as they stepped inside.

"It's only a code yellow," he reminded Malfoy. "Someone probably sneezed on a sneakoscope."

Malfoy shrugged. "Maybe."

They exited the Ministry building and crossed to the cafe. As they drew closer to the door, Harry felt Malfoy tensing up. He watched him out of the corner of his eye, but apart from the firm set of his jaw, he gave no outwardly indication of what was wrong.

Harry sighed. Malfoy truly was a melodramatic prick. When he got like this it usually took Harry days to figure out what he'd done wrong. If he even did figure it out.

"Don't stutter, now, Potter," Malfoy snapped as Harry reached for the handle.

Harry shot him a look that roughly translated to _What the fuck is your problem_ , and opened the door.

"Look who's back," a female voice drawled from the counter. Now that he was prepared for the viciousness of the tone, Harry was shocked to realise that the voice sounded an awful lot like Malfoy.

"Yeah," Harry said with a grin, determined not to let her throw him off balance this time. He looked down at her name tag and saw that it read 'Amy'. "The service was so great, I couldn't resist."

That won him a small smirk, which made him feel almost excited. Until Malfoy strode through the door.

"Oh, and you've brought your little Saviour minions, I see?" She shot Malfoy a dazzling smile.

Malfoy was taken aback for half a second, and then his instincts kicked in. Harry managed to resist the urge to drop his face into his hands, but it was a tough battle.

"I must have misheard you," Malfoy said with a sneer, strolling up to the counter and leaning on it so he was face to face with Amy. "I could have sworn you said 'minions'." He turned to Harry while still leaning on the counter. "Potter, do you think she said 'minions'?" He turned back. " _I_ think she said 'minions'. And if she was really just implying that a Malfoy would stoop to something so degrading as shining Scarhead's bloody boots, I might just have to correct her."

Amy smirked.

Harry suddenly realised he had no idea which of the two he wanted to win this little pissing contest. But if he had to bet, his money was on Amy.

Amy leaned down onto the counter. She was so close to Malfoy now that their noses were almost touching. "A Malfoy, you say?" Her voice was thick with amusement. "Then I will have to amend my statement. You're not a minion."

Malfoy looked smug.

"You're a lackey," she finished, now grinning. "You did He Who Must Not Be Named's dirty work with none of the genius, even if it was a psychopath's genius. Now, what do they call the hunchbacked assistant in that muggle book?" She tapped her chin and stared into the distance thoughtfully. "Igor. That's right. I'm going to call you Igor from now on."

Malfoy's jaw dropped. It was only a slight movement, given how skilled he was at schooling his features into superior derision, but Harry could read Malfoy well. He was stunned.

"Igor?" Malfoy repeated, his voice calm, almost thoughtful. "You must be referring to that claptrap, Frankenstein?" He pushed back off the bench and stood up straight. "Never read it myself," he added airily. "If you're going to read muggle horror, don't waste your time on the verbal vomit of a philistine, you know what I mean?" He cocked his head. "No, probably not." He bared his teeth into an imitation of a smile. "Try some Poe, next time, love. If you think you can manage it, that is."

She smirked and moved to answer, but he had already turned away. As he passed Harry, he shot him a look of such venom that Harry took a step back without thinking. Malfoy swept passed him and out the door.

Harry stood, frozen, for several seconds. He hadn't seen that expression on Malfoy's face since their early Auror days, when Harry had thought Malfoy was still an arrogant tosser who liked to hide behind his cronies, and Malfoy had assumed little better of Harry. He shook his head and turned back to Amy, who was watching him with one eyebrow cocked in amusement.

_Fuck it_ , he thought to himself. Anyone who could rile Malfoy up that much had to be worth knowing. "Dinner, tomorrow?" he asked with a grin.

She smirked. "I finish at 6," she said, leaning on the counter.

Harry nodded, grinned again, and left. Once outside, he looked up and down the street for Malfoy, but it looked as though he'd left already. Harry shrugged to himself - at least he didn't have to make another excuse for Malfoy not to come over - and moved to disapparate.

A loud rumbling through the concrete made him stumble before he could turn. His wand began to vibrate, calling all Aurors to the scene. He focused on the location and disapparated.

* * *

Malfoy had beaten him there, although it was only a few blocks away. It was a nightmare. Three buildings - five storeys, each - had collapsed on themselves in a pile of burning rubble. Muggle fire engines sounded in the distance while pedestrians gawked. Aurors moved amongst them silently, cloaked in disillusionment spells, assessing with a calm alertness. Malfoy was already among them, all fury wiped from his face, his professional demeanor in firm control.

"What do we know?" Harry asked, walking up to Malfoy immediately.

"Instantaneous explosion," Malfoy answered. "Middle building first, quickly followed by the outer two; clearly a central explosion with a roughly circular area of effect. Muggles are calling it a gas leak. It looks like a potion to me." He gave Harry a look loaded with meaning.

Harry ran a hand through his hair in agitation and began to walk the perimeter.

When they met to debrief, they had no further news. All casualties had been portkeyed to St Mungo's - muggle and wizard alike - with a high chance of recovery. There were no remnants of the potion to test, such was the strength of the blast. But Harry was confident in Malfoy's knowledge of potions, and Malfoy was confident that there were very few potions with that kind of potency.

But it was nothing solid to go on. And when Malfoy insisted on coming back to Harry's, Harry had run out of excuses.

They apparated into the apartment and Harry watched as Malfoy immediately began to search. He didn't even hold up a pretense.

"You sure you got all of it?" he asked Harry, glancing at him as he waved his wand where the bookcase had been. Since Malfoy didn't have the key to unlock the charms, and there was no weakness for him to exploit, he had no choice but to believe Harry.

Harry shrugged. "Pretty sure," he said, going for casual. "If I find another stash, I'll move it." He shifted uncomfortably. A small part of him was beginning to acknowledge that Malfoy was doing this for Harry's benefit, even if his concern was misguided. "Thanks, Malfoy," he said awkwardly. "For, you know, helping. And not making me destroy it."

Malfoy's eyes widened slightly. "You're welcome, Potter," he said stiffly. "Merlin knows you're an idiot and you need all the help you can get. I still can't believe you left that crap in your house for years and didn't think it would have an effect."

"It won't," Harry snapped without thinking. "It didn't," he corrected, shaking his head. "Anyway. Whatever. It's fine."

Malfoy snorted, but seemed not to have noticed Harry's mistake. "Still stubbornly deluded. Can't say I'm surprised." His voice turned casual as he took a seat on the edge of the couch. "How did it go with the she-devil?"

Harry sat down warily. "We're having dinner."

Malfoy's eyes flashed, but outwardly he only nodded. "Wonder how long you'll last with that one," he said, leaning back and tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. "Surely you won't be able to stand being with someone so bitter and sarcastic." There was something dangerous in his tone, but Harry couldn't figure out what or why.

"I'm sure I'll be fine," Harry said with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

There was a pause before Malfoy finally sighed and relaxed. "Well, what are we eating for dinner, then? I'm starved."

Harry let out a sigh of relief and stood up to see what was in the fridge.

"And, Potter," Malfoy called out as he left. "Did you bathe in that ridiculous shampoo of yours, this morning? Your apartment reeks of it. Open a window for Merlin's sake."

 

**Chapter Ten**

 

Harry stared at himself in the mirror. When you were dating a girl who quite possibly hated you, where did you go for dinner? Harry tried to picture Amy sitting across from him in Fontano's restaurant on Diagon Alley. Her imaginary nose wrinkled in distaste. He shook his head and tried to picture a muggle restaurant instead. She laughed.

Harry ran his hands through his hair and groaned. He could Floo-call Malfoy. Malfoy would know where to go. But that would feel too much like Malfoy was beating him at something. Besides, Malfoy was so touchy lately, Harry wasn't sure he wanted to risk it. He cast a Tempus charm and groaned again. He didn't have time for this.

He crossed quickly to the fireplace and threw some powder in.

"Malfoy?" he asked when the flames around his face had cleared enough for him to see.

"Potter?" Malfoy asked in surprise, putting down his book. He stood up from the armchair and knelt by the fire, so they were eye to eye. He was wearing black cotton pajama pants with a black cotton t-shirt. For a second, Harry was taken aback. He'd never seen Malfoy look so relaxed.

"I need your help," Harry admitted.

Malfoy's eyes widened. "What is it?" he asked, reaching for his wand. "For Merlin's sake, Potter, you left some of it in your apartment didn't you? I told-"

"No, no, no!" Harry said, holding up his hands into the flames. "Nothing like that. I, er-" he paused, taking in Malfoy's expression. This suddenly felt like a really stupid idea. But he'd started now. "I didn't know where to take Amy. I thought you might have a suggestion."

Malfoy stared at him. Long seconds passed.

"You don't know where to take the she-devil to dinner," Malfoy finally said. "And you're asking me." Malfoy cocked an eyebrow, but instead of his usual smug expression he looked almost incredulous.

"Yeah," Harry said, trailing off a little. "Well, she's not like anyone I've ever dated." He tried to explain. "I don't think I can take her to my usual places, and I thought you might have some ideas because-" Harry tried to think of a reason that didn't give Malfoy automatic superiority on the subject. "Well, because she's a bit like you actually," he finished thoughtfully.

"A bit like me," Malfoy repeated, his voice strangled.

Harry suddenly remembered that Malfoy hated Amy. "Well, not that much like you!" He amended, holding his hands up again. "Anyway. I need your help," he finished, hoping that pleading with him might appeal to Malfoy's ego enough for him to just give Harry a damn address. "You know, your eyes look really strange right now," Harry said when Malfoy didn't reply.

Malfoy stared at him. Just when Harry began to worry for his safety, Malfoy laughed.

"Potter, you-" he laughed again, blonde hair shaking loosely into his face and eyes.

Harry laughed nervously.

"For fuck's sake," Malfoy said, shaking his head and standing up. He accio'd a piece of parchment and a quill, and quickly scribbled an address. He shoved the parchment at Harry, avoiding the flames. "Take her there," he said. "If she doesn't like it, she's either lying or she's not worth your time."

"Thanks, Malfoy," Harry said, taking the parchment. "I, er, owe you one."

"You owe me a hundred, Potter. Now piss off." Malfoy sat back down and picked up his book.

Harry withdrew from the flames and quickly disapparated.

When he walked through the doors of Malfoy's restaurant, he was forced to admit that he probably did owe Malfoy quite a bit. If the look on Amy's face was anything to go by, it had paid off. The restaurant was clearly expensive without being gaudy. The colours were soft and tasteful with soft lighting, and the sound was muted by a clever charm that made the whole room feel intimate even as it was packed with guests. The waiter led them gracefully past the small booths to the elegant grey hangings that separated the bar from the dining area. Moving them aside with discrete wandless magic, she led them to their table to the side of the room. It had a clear view of the stage where a lady in a long black dress was crooning a sultry jazz song.

"What do you think?" Harry asked Amy as they took their seats.

"That you might be more than a pretty face," Amy said, giving him a small wink. She didn't attempt to hide the fact that she was impressed, which relieved Harry. If she had spent the night pretending to be above it all, he wasn't sure he would have wanted to try for a second date.

The waiter took their drinks order and left them again. Amy immediately began to butter a piece of bread. When Harry reached for a piece from the basket, she surprised him by handing him the one she was buttering and taking another.

"Thanks," he said, giving her a smile.

"You're welcome," she said with a smirk, breaking off a piece of her own bread - neatly buttered - and popping into her mouth. "So, what does the Saviour like to do in his spare time? Apart from take gorgeous women out to terribly expensive restaurants, of course."

Harry laughed. "Well, I'm an Auror," he began.

"I know," she said drily.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "This isn't going to work if you don't at least pretend that you don't know everything the reporters have ever written about my life."

"Not everyone cares enough about you to read everything the reporters have ever written about your life," she replied with a smirk, breaking off another piece of bread and popping it into her mouth.

Harry moved to respond, but Amy held up her hand. "I'm only teasing," she said. "But tell me something the reporters haven't written. If there is anything."

"Alright," Harry said, leaning back and thinking. He was coming up blank. "I love treacle tart?"

Amy chewed thoughtfully. "No, I'm pretty sure they put that in your Eligible Bachelors profile in Witch Weekly."

Harry laughed. "What do you do in your spare time?" he asked.

"Muggle motorcycles," she said, shooting him a grin. "Can't get enough of them."

"Really?" Harry said, leaning forward and thinking of Sirius' motorcycle in his backyard.

By the time they had ordered their starters, they were deep in conversation about flying motorcycles. By the time their mains had arrived, the conversation had moved through so many topics, Harry couldn't even remember half of them.

At the end of the night, after a chaste but promising good night kiss, Harry decided it was definitely one of the best dates he had ever had.

* * *

Harry walked slowly along the carpet next to his bookshelf. As he read the titles, he ran his fingers lightly across their spines, tracing the runes and symbols. He selected a few and placed them carefully inside his bag with the Undetectable Extension Charm. Then, he pulled out his list and checked it.

Satisfied, he slid the bag into his work bag, slung the whole lot over his shoulder, and left.

When he arrived at his office, Malfoy was already there, reclining in his chair and waving his hand leisurely to send peanuts sailing into his mouth from the bag on Harry's desk.

"An ostentatious show of wandless magic, I see," Harry said with a smirk as he opened the door. He was too relieved to see that Malfoy appeared to be back to his old self to care about the thievery of his snacks.

Malfoy's eyebrows rose. "Ostentatious? My, my, been reading a thesaurus have we, Potter? And sarcasm to boot. I must be having a bad influence on you."

Harry just chuckled and tucked his bag beneath his desk. "You are a bad influence, period, Malfoy."

Malfoy grinned in delight and sent another peanut flying through the air.

"Do you mind?" Harry asked half-heartedly, watching the peanut fly past his nose.

"Not at all," Malfoy assured him. "But we do have to talk."

Harry froze.

"These peanuts," Malfoy continued, "are unsalted. Why are they unsalted? Are you on a diet, Potter? Really, you should have just asked me first. I could have saved you the trouble. Don't bother starving yourself, it won't make a difference. You'll still look like a speccy git."

Harry bit down his sigh of relief and rolled his eyes instead. "Gee, thanks, Malfoy. You're right, I should just ask you next time."

"Precisely."

Harry nudged his bag with his foot, checking the contents were still secure, and began to sort through his report papers. "So what's got you in such a good mood?" he asked when Malfoy began humming.

"I've no idea what you're talking about," Malfoy said, finally swinging his legs down off the desk and beginning to work. "But now that you mention it, I do have news. You remember Parvati from school?"

"Yeah," Harry said, trying but failing to see the connection.

"We've been seeing each other off and on, but I think it's getting serious."

"Oh, really?" Harry said, surprised. He hadn't known Malfoy to be serious with anyone. He looked over at Malfoy and saw that Malfoy was watching him closely. "Parvati? I had no idea." He couldn't picture it. The thought made him feel odd. "Congratulations."

Malfoy smirked. "So I'm still in the lead, no matter how many demons you wine and dine. And speaking of, how did your wonderful date go last night? Did she run screaming in the first five minutes? Or did she last an hour before the sight of you became too much?"

"Actually it went really well," Harry said, smiling at the thought. "We're going out again next weekend."

"Better make it sooner than that," Malfoy said. "Parvati and I are going to the theatre tomorrow."

"It's not always a competition, Malfoy."

"Sure it is," Malfoy replied, baring his teeth. For a minute, Harry was sure Malfoy was about to withdraw into his recent strange behaviour again, but then the expression passed and he was back to normal.

They spent the day working on their reports, and then moved quickly to a meeting about yesterday's incident. They had identified the potion - another of Portentia's - but were no further at determining where it had come from.

"What about that code yellow?" Malfoy asked. "Could that be related to the incident?"

Wiffleston nodded. "We're investigating, but there is no reason to assume as of yet. The reports were only of strange memo activity in the elevator, possibly intruder-related, but with no further proof there's no need to waste resources at this point in time."

Strange memo activity in the elevator. Harry shot Malfoy a look, and it was clear Malfoy was thinking the same thing. They would have to be careful under the cloak from now on. Although Malfoy didn't intend to return to the hidden department, of course.

Harry would have to be very careful.

When the meeting finished, Harry waved goodbye to Malfoy and picked up a handful of Floo powder. When Malfoy disappeared into the fireplace next to him, he put the powder back into the container and turned around.

This time, there was no one in the elevator as he made his way down to the cells. He threw the cloak around him, and made his way quickly to the portal. The man turned immediately, no longer requiring a blood oath, and Harry stepped through.

Once inside, he opened his bag to check that he hadn't forgotten anything. As he ran his fingers over the books, he felt a strange jolt go through him. A spark of something, like electricity. A flash of anger rose to the surface, but was gone in an instant before he could identify or explain it.

He shook his head and climbed the stairs.

"Oh, he returned!" a bodiless voice shouted as soon as Harry stepped into the room.

"Who burned?!" Barnaby's voice came from the other side of the wall as Reginald flew up through the floor. "And how did they burn? With no bodies in the vicinity, I must say I'm finding your story full of holes." Barnaby emerged from the wall to Harry's left. "Oh, you've returned, my dear boy! Reginald, why didn't you say so? Mildred!"

The last word was said with a screech that made Harry's ears throb. After a few seconds Mildred stepped slowly through the wall at the back of the room. "You mean to tell me the boy kept his promise?" she asked. "Unexpected, indeed."

"Man, actually," Harry muttered. "Anyway, yes, I've brought you some books you might find useful." He drew the books out of his bag one by one and placed them on the table in the middle of the room, pushing old parchment aside as he did. "You're welcome to keep them as long as you like, I don't need them right now."

Barnaby swooped over and levitated the top book, turning the pages quickly. "Remarkable," he said. "A text that discusses the _properties_ of illegal venoms, instead of simply listing their fatality statistics. Exactly what I needed."

"Why do you have such books in your possession?" Mildred asked, levitating another book and eying it warily. "Do you practice such arts?"

"Of course not," Harry said with a frown. "I'm interested for the same reason you are. Or the portal would never have let me through, would it?"

Mildred nodded. "Quite right. Then we thank you for your generosity. Will you stay? I'm afraid we have no food for the living, but after years of practice, we have become quite good at conversation." She gave a wry smile.

"Thank you," Harry said, smiling in return. "But I do have to get back now. I would like to take up your offer another time, though, if that was alright?"

"Of course," Mildred said. "Whenever you are available. We're not going anywhere."

Harry nodded and waved. Barnaby and Reginald were too deep in their reading to notice him go, but Mildred nodded.

As he made his way down the staircase, he felt that same sharp jolt from before and another flash of anger. It was longer this time, but still not long enough for him to identify.

Slightly perturbed, he pushed it from his mind and moved on.


	2. Part Two

**Chapter Eleven**

 

It started when Harry returned home. The second he moved through the wards, he knew something was wrong. The air felt thick, oppressive. He scratched roughly at his arms, wondering if some kind of potion had been spilled, or a hex had been set to trigger when he came through the door.

But apart from a strange itching beneath his skin, and the dank quality to the air, there was nothing he could identify. Only the certainty that something was very, very wrong. He strode further into the apartment, looking around him in earnest, trying to pinpoint the source of the sensation. He waved his wand to make his hidden collection appear, idly continuing to scratch his arm while they surfaced into his vision.

A sharp pain on his wrist made him look down in surprise. He was bleeding. He lifted his wrist and examined it closely. There was no evidence of a spell. He lifted his other hand, looking at his nails and feeling a strange sense of disassociation from his body.

He had done this. He had scratched his skin so hard that he bled, and he hadn’t even noticed.

He whipped his head up in alarm as a soft cry came from somewhere in front of him.

“Who’s there?” he demanded.

The cry came again. This time, Harry saw the book move. His face paled. The books never expressed a sentience on their own; it was always in response to something. An objection to being moved, distress that they had been left in direct sunlight. It had to be something. What was the book crying over? Nothing had changed.

His arm throbbed, and he realised he was still scratching, the blood already welling under his fingernails.

“Fuck!”

He thrust out his hand and accio’d the book into his open palm, so that his fingers would have something else to occupy them.

The book crooned softly. He opened it, but it looked the same as it always had. Dark runes spread across the page. This text had a tendency to prefer being read in twilight, but no real objection to anything. It had always been a passive text, content enough with its position on his shelf. Nothing like some of the more demanding resources.

He frowned and sent the book back. Nothing had changed. His collection was exactly as it had always been.

Except for the books he’d taken. He froze, pondering this new development.

Before he could consider a course of action, his wand began to vibrate, calling him back to the Ministry.

 

* * *

  
“Don’t you long for the days of boredom and apathy?” Malfoy declared when Harry arrived in the briefing room. Only half the team had arrived, since mere minutes had passed since the call was sent, but the room was steadily filling with frustrated Aurors.

It was a Friday night, and they had so nearly made it into their comfy armchairs where they could rest, unmoving for the weekend. Malfoy’s posture - sprawled across the table with his chin propped in one hand, eyes partially closed - suggested he had not only made it into his armchair, but had been fast asleep. The nasty twist to his mouth highlighted just what he thought of that interruption.

An image of Malfoy curled in his armchair by the fire, relaxed in his black cotton shirt and trousers, popped into Harry’s mind. He shook his head and sat down abruptly, disturbed by the thought for reasons he couldn’t identify.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Wiffleston said from the front of the room as the final Auror took their seat. “It is with the utmost regret that I inform you the Ministry was almost infiltrated this evening.”

“But then they saw your face, did they?” Malfoy called out. “Good show, captain.” He began to applaud.

Several of the junior Aurors looked around, panic on their faces. One of the newer ones lifted his hands to clap, but was quickly smacked down by his friend.

Harry bit down the urge to laugh. Up the front of the room, Wiffleston blustered. Unable to think of a retort, he simply spoke louder.

“Fortunately, the potions - spelled to release at a predetermined time - were discovered by the cleaning staff before they could detonate.”

“Could have given it half a second longer, then we might have had a week off,” Malfoy muttered.

“In light of this very real threat,” Wiffleston yelled, his eyes a little crazed. “We have approved the move to code red security alert. All personnel are to be accompanied by a level two Auror upon entry and exit from the building.”

Well, that was alright. Both he and Malfoy were level two Aurors. They’d just have to arrive and depart together.

“If I must escort you, Potter, I insist you hold my hand,” Malfoy said, baring his teeth in a grin. “I wouldn’t want you to run off on me and get lost.”

Wiffleston continued to detail the requirements of a code red security alert as if he couldn’t hear the interruption.

Harry snorted. “If _I’m_ escorting _you_ , I insist on compensation pay. If you don’t shut up, I’m going to suffer acute-”

“Auror Potter and Auror Malfoy will conduct the _vital_ task of preparing and securing the wards against any infiltration, while Aurors Smith and Wilson will be in charge of field investigation,” Wiffleston finished loudly.

Malfoy gaped.

Wiffleston nodded, a smug smirk on his face; the picture of self-importance. “Dismissed.” He strode from the room, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he left.

“Where’re Smith and Wilson,” Malfoy growled. “I’m going to wring their-”

Harry put a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder, pushing him gently back down into the chair. Malfoy looked up in surprise.

“Let’s just get the wards secured,” he suggested. “Then we can go home.”

Malfoy paused, but eventually nodded and moved to stand. As Harry’s hand dropped back to his side, Malfoy’s eyes slid to Harry’s wrist. He frowned.

“What happened to your arm?” he asked, reaching as if to grab it, and then stopping himself at the last minute.

Harry waved his hand dismissively. “Tripped just before I got the call. Didn’t have time to heal it. Barely hurts anyway. Come on, let’s finish this.”

They spent an hour going over the wards, but could find nothing wrong. No gap, no fault, no flaw. It was as perfect as it had always been. They settled for strengthening the spells and increasing guard duty, then left. To Harry’s surprise, Malfoy followed him home.

“Thought I should have another check for you,” he said as they walked through the door. “Make sure you didn’t forget anything.”

Harry shrugged. If Malfoy hadn’t found anything the first time, he was unlikely to now. And perhaps he could shed some light on the oppressive feel of his apartment. Now that Harry had spent some time away from it, he was convinced that he was over reacting. It was impossible for the books to be protesting the absence of the ones he had lent to Barnaby. There had to be another explanation, and Malfoy could help him with that.

Inside the apartment, the sensation was dulled but still noticeable. Malfoy stiffened immediately and began to look around.

“What’s wrong with your apartment?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” Harry admitted. “I only just noticed it before I left. Any ideas?”

“No,” Malfoy said slowly. He walked over to the walls and began to trace his fingers along the plaster. Harry watched him. His arm was beginning to itch again. “The air is thick.”

“Huh?” Harry realised several seconds too late that Malfoy had spoken, but Malfoy was too preoccupied to realise.

“Mind you, it could be simply the overwhelming stench of your beauty regime,” Malfoy said drily, although apprehension was still evident in his tone.

Harry barely noticed the words, let alone the jibe. His arm was suddenly in agony. He began to scratch, no longer caring if he broke the skin. He would do anything to get that sensation to stop.

“Really, Potter,” Malfoy kept talking and inspecting the walls, completely unaware of Harry’s discomfort. He reached the small bookshelf next to the fireplace. “I have no idea what you do to make such a strong-” he stopped speaking suddenly.

A small part of Harry was blessedly thankful for the silence. A far larger part of him didn’t notice. Blood was welling in uneven spots along his skin, beginning to drip and fall over the side, and still the itch would not be sated.

“Potter, what is this bottle?” Malfoy asked, his voice tight and strangely high pitched.

Harry couldn’t comprehend what Malfoy was saying. The words were audible, but they made no sense, not when his arm was throbbing so terribly. He pulled out his wand and aimed it desperately at his forearm, wondering if a stinging jinx might cut deep enough to still the pain, and then wondering what it was about that thought that seemed like very poor logic.

“Is this what I think it is?” The words were almost whispered, as if Malfoy were hardly aware he was speaking. Certainly, he was no longer talking to Harry.

Harry cast his eyes frantically around the room. He needed Malfoy gone. He needed to bring his bookcases into reach. They would have what he needed, whatever it was. They would quench this thirst.

“But, that would mean I-” Malfoy turned, his face ashen. “Potter, I have to go.”

“Good,” Harry said before he could stop himself.

Malfoy didn’t notice. He fled.

Before the door was even closed, Harry had waved his wand and brought the invisible collection crashing into his space. He thrust out his hand, not caring what flew into it, and gave a moan of relief when a dark text bound in dragonhide shot across the room and bowled him over.

He flipped through the pages until he landed on a spell he knew he could cast. A simple offering in exchange for strength. He had never cast it, of course. Had never cast any of the spells in his collection, no matter how curious he had been. It didn’t mean he couldn’t.

He felt the words wash over him like silk, and the pain faded away.

Barely noticed anymore, the air in his apartment softened. Harry felt calm once again.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working out the best way to update this, chapter-wise... I think I'm going to go back and split it into individual chapters, instead of the massive text-dump I've done so far. So please do bear with me if and when I do that. For now, I'll just update as new chapters every time.

**Chapter Twelve**  
  
   
  
When Harry woke the next morning, he felt good. Better than he had felt in years. There was a tingling beneath his skin; a pleasant sort of vibration that made him think of the first days of the school year, when he had just arrived back at Hogwarts.  
  
He climbed out of bed and was halfway through making breakfast before he realised he was humming.  
  
Humming.  
  
He'd never hummed in his life. He took it as a good sign, if slightly odd, and sat down in front of the fireplace. A wave of his wand re-lit the embers of the fire he had forgotten to douse before leaving for work last night, and a few more logs soon had the flames roaring comfortably.  
  
It was a shame he had nothing to do to keep him occupied. He whistled for his owl Edwina, and penned a quick note to Ron and Hermione.  
  
_Hey guys, what're you up to today? Could you fit in lunch?_  
  
Then he leaned back in his chair and tried to resist the urge to call over one of his texts. Last night was an anomaly. Something had fallen out of balance, and the spell Harry had cast had fixed it. For some reason. End of story, but it couldn't happen again. He had no need to cast dark magic, and doing so could only lead to trouble.  
  
He lifted his hand, an "accio" on his lips.  
  
Edwina swooped back in the window. Harry reached up and grabbed the note, a little more eagerly than was necessary.  
  
_Sure thing, mate!_ Ron's untidy scrawl read. _Give us five and we'll apparate to yours. Got loads to catch up on, can't wait!_  
  
Harry leaned back with a contented sigh. He hadn't seen them in so long; this was what he needed. He only hoped that Hermione wouldn't be able to sense that something was off. Even though whatever had happened was no longer an issue, that was never reason enough for her to stop pestering.  
  
He got up out of his chair, deciding to dress a little warmer so that they could go somewhere nice for lunch and enjoy the outdoors. Before he had taken a step, Hermione's owl swooped in, dropped a note at his feet, and swooped out. Her feathers were rumpled, and her beak was held haughtily in the air, like Hedwig's had been whenever he had made her deliver a letter without asking nicely.  
  
_Sorry, Harry!_ Hermione seemed to have written very hastily. _Change of plan. Can we make it the afternoon? My parents dropped by unexpectedly._  
  
Since Marble - Hermione's owl - had already flown off, Hermione clearly wasn't expecting a reply. Which was fine, since of course they could change the time. Harry would just have to… think of something to do for the next few hours. No big deal.  
  
A silver otter burst through the wall. "Harry!" Hermione's voice sounded out of breath. "We'll have to reschedule! My parents' house flooded the other night. They need my help cleaning everything. How's next week?"  
  
The patronus faded away, clearly not expecting a response either, and Harry sat down again with a sigh. No more plans. He could owl Malfoy to see if he wanted to get a pint, but it wasn't even twelve, and he was probably with Parvati anyway.  
  
When he looked down, there was a bag in his hand. A black pouch made of soft deer skin. He knew what was in it. He didn't know why it was in his hand.  
  
Slowly, he opened the pouch and poured the runes into his hand. He reached for them, but stilled when he saw the soft light pulsating from several of them. That was new.  
  
"Mannaz," he read quietly, turning the first rune over in his hand. It seemed to glow brighter.  
  
He picked up the second. "Naudiz." He was certain now; both runes were glowing steadily brighter than they had before.  
  
He picked up the third.  
  
On reflex, he suddenly cast the runes aside. This was bad. This was really, really bad. Those runes had been purchased from a deceased estate auction filled with pureblood witches and wizards that would make Knockturn Alley look like a fair. Whatever sentience they had wouldn't be pleasant.  
  
He stood and disapparated.

 

* * *

 

  
  
Malfoy blinked at him and remained unmoving in the doorway. "So, you came here?"  
  
"Yes." Harry shifted from foot to foot. It was cold outside.  
  
"You had nothing to do. And you didn't know if I was out. So you came here anyway." Malfoy repeated. For some reason, he seemed particularly disturbed by Harry's presence. If anything, he even looked paler than usual.  
  
"Yes," Harry said again, an edge to his tone. Why was Malfoy being so difficult?  
  
Finally, Malfoy sighed and opened the door. "Typical, really," he muttered to himself as Harry moved past with a grateful sigh. "Listen, about last night," he began as he followed Harry into the living room.  
  
Harry heard Malfoy pause and then curse softly behind him.  
  
"Don't worry about it," Harry said, not wanting Malfoy to think too deeply about the way Harry had acted yesterday.  
  
Malfoy visibly relaxed.  
  
"It's bloody cold out there," Harry said for a change of subject, looking around Malfoy's living room. The fire was lit, and the room looked surprisingly homely, even with the highly sophisticated chaise lounge and ottomans.  
  
He didn't come here often. When they did anything after work, it was at the pub or at Harry's. Harry took a seat on an ottoman close to the fire.  
  
Malfoy sat down in his armchair, where he had obviously been reading.  
  
"I thought you might be out with Parvati," Harry said, because the silence was tense and strange.  
  
Malfoy frowned, like he hadn't been listening, and then blinked in understanding. "Oh, right. No. We're going out tonight." He swung his legs up underneath himself and Harry blinked in surprise. He looked relaxed, content. Except for the expression on his face that suggested something had crawled up his nose and died there.  
  
Harry squinted. Malfoy also looked faintly… nervous? It hit him. Malfoy must be worried about his date tonight.  
  
Harry grinned. "So, it sounds like you love her then?"  
  
Malfoy's eyes widened. He tried to talk too quickly and ended up choking. When he could finally breathe again, he stared at Harry for several incredulous seconds before speaking.  
  
"No."  
  
Harry kept grinning.  
  
Malfoy pulled a face. "No, I do not, Potter. Besides," he continued with a sneer, "Malfoys do not love."  
  
Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Love makes you weak and vulnerable." Malfoy lifted his chin slightly. "Particularly since it's barely ever reciprocated. Malfoys care for people, certainly. And we like to date," he grinned lasciviously. "But we do not love."  
  
"But," Harry began, then paused. "Your mother and father love each other, don't they?" he finished finally.  
  
Malfoy laughed. "They are partners. They support each other. Respect each other. Care for each other. But love is a weakness to be used against you."  
  
There was a long silence. "Sounds very lonely," Harry said.  
  
Malfoy made a rude noise. The silence continued.  
  
"Speaking of which," he said suddenly. Then his face paled and he shook his head. "I mean-" He put his feet down abruptly and sat up straight. "Potter, why on earth do you have an open bottle of Amortentia on your bookshelf?"  
  
Harry froze. He didn't know Malfoy had seen it. The dozen excuses he had had in the back of his mind for if Malfoy had seen the bottle were suddenly absent. He tried desperately to think of a new one, and hoped Malfoy didn't notice that he was suddenly giving a rather sterling impression of a fish.  
  
Malfoy paused, taking in Harry's discomfort. Realisation crossed his features.  
  
"Potter," he said quietly. "How much is still in your apartment? How much did you-" He stopped, his face suddenly stricken. "The air," he said faintly.  
  
He jumped up, grabbed Harry, and all but threw them into the fireplace.  
  
When they emerged in Harry's apartment, Malfoy went ballistic. Harry could hardly see through the destruction of spells Malfoy cast. His couch burst, shredding instantaneously and covering the lounge in a sea of fluff and feathers.  
  
"Protego!" Malfoy yelled angrily, stopping the worst of the mess from obstructing his vision, and continuing to hurl curses around the room.  
  
Harry watched, open-mouthed and reluctant for the first time in his life to approach Malfoy. The single-minded ferocity with which he was tearing apart Harry's apartment was both breath-taking and terrifying. Even when they dueled, it was never like this. A part of them both was always holding back.  
  
He had never seen Malfoy let loose before. It was mesmerizing.  
  
When he was finished, all that Malfoy had managed to find was a small bookcase of historical texts and Harry's skull collection. It was a testament to the strength of Harry's wards, which Harry was most certainly not going to point out right now.  
  
Malfoy stared at him, his chest heaving and his eyes glinting dangerously. "Where. Is. The. Rest?" he asked slowly, enunciating every syllable.  
  
Harry lifted his wand, not taking his eyes off Malfoy, and waved it once, slowly. Through a haze floating dust, they saw everything materialise. Harry watched Malfoy as he looked around, analysing, counting.  
  
"You didn't move it," he said, his shoulders stiff. "You didn't move any of it." He turned back to face Harry.  
  
Harry flinched. "I-" He stopped. "No."  
  
"Combustio," Malfoy said quietly. Flames shot from his wand, and all of the bookcases caught alight. Screams filled the air, raising the hair on the back of Harry's neck.  
  
Harry swore and pulled out his wand. He could douse the flames in time, rescue some of it at least.  
  
Instead, he found himself pointing his wand at Malfoy and screaming "Crucio!"  
  
The curse rebounded off Malfoy's shield charm, which he had obviously cast between them well before Harry had drawn his wand. Harry stared down at his wand in horror, while Malfoy's expression remained unchanged. Around them, the fire burned hotter.  
  
Malfoy waved his wand so that the shield extended over both of them. The heat disappeared immediately.  
  
"Let me see your arm."  
  
Harry held his wrist forward, not even thinking of arguing when Malfoy's face looked like that. Malfoy glanced down and closed his eyes involuntarily when he saw the marks.  
  
"It's already started, you bloody moron," he said through gritted teeth. "The magic must have already sunk in too deep. And then, what? You tried to remove one book as a token effort? The rest objected, didn't they? And now you're using them. Am I right?"  
  
He doused the flames and dropped the shield. He continued to stare at Harry, waiting for an answer.  
  
Harry nodded slowly. The room felt strange. Lighter, like the pressure in the air had shifted.  
  
Malfoy waved his wand again, and the burned, charred remains of Harry's most prized possessions disappeared, including the items that wouldn't burn. "There was no other way," he said quietly, taking a step toward Harry. He reached out as if to touch him on the shoulder, but pulled back at the last second. "It would call to you no matter where it was." He smiled ruefully; it was a strange look for him. "You pulled an Unforgivable out on me. Surely, you see how serious this is now?"  
  
Harry nodded again, feeling like he was responding from behind a wall. His emotions were dulled. He was in shock.  
  
And the strangest thing was that Malfoy seemed to understand. Whether from personal experience, or simply his proximity to dark objects during his formative years, he understood what was going on and he didn't judge. It was a stark contrast to Hermione.  
  
Although Harry was now very, very certain that he didn't want to get on Malfoy's bad side about this.  
  
He looked up into Malfoy's calm gaze and felt something inside him stir faintly. It was strange, but the dulled and faintly delusional part of his senses likened the sensation to how he thought he should feel when looking at his dates across the dinner table. With how he had almost felt about Ginny.  
  
Malfoy took a step back. "Let's get you to St Mungo's," he said briskly. "They're bound by confidentiality, and we need to make sure it's all out of your system."  
  
He held the Floo powder out to Harry. With a last, lingering look at his apartment - now destroyed beyond recognition - Harry took the powder and shouted "St Mungo's" into the flames.  
  
 


	4. Chapter Thirteen

The nurse stared down at Harry with a mean glint in her eye.

"And how often would you say you take inventory of these items?" the nurse asked brusquely, her quill and paper hovering by her in the air.

Harry looked up at her from his position on the bed, feeling incredibly lacking in authority and power. The fact that Malfoy was sitting in the chair by the bed, resting his feet on Harry's pillow and eating Harry's share of hospital pudding was not helping his sense of control over the situation.

"Maybe-" Harry paused and cleared his throat. "Maybe twice per month? Since, you know, you're never sure if they're going to run off." The nurse stared at him. Her quill began to write with the ferocity and speed of Rita Skeeter's Quick-Quotes Quill. "Because they do that," Harry continued. The quill sped up. "It's not a bad thing! They just do." He trailed off, refusing to continue justifying his actions to a quill.

"Please outline your physical symptoms in the event you do not complete this bi-monthly inventory."

Harry gaped at her. "Physical symptoms? I don't have any. I mean, I've never missed an inventory. I mean, what does it matter? I'm just checking them."

"Ask him about the heads," Malfoy mumbled around a mouthful of pudding.

The nurse's expression drew, if possible, tighter. "Do you have shrunken heads in your possession?"

"Only seven," Harry answered quickly.

"Do they speak?"

Harry threw his head back and groaned. "No. I've already been through this with the doctor. Do I really need to go through it all again?"

"Yes," Malfoy and the nurse spoken in unison.

The quill finished writing with a flourish, and the scroll rolled shut, dropping into the nurse's outstretched hand.

"You'll need to report for weekly check-ups," the nurse informed him. "And abstain from all manner of dark material. St Mungo's will write a letter detailing these requirements should you need to inform your employer."

"I don't need to inform my employer," Harry said quickly. "I'm not around dark objects at work."

"He's around potions," Malfoy interjected. "He'll need a note."

Harry swore violently. "They're not dark!"

"Not yet," Malfoy retorted, staring at Harry haughtily over his pudding spoon. "You'll need a note, in case."

The nurse snapped her fingers, and a scroll appeared on the bedside table. "Please sign the discharge forms at the front desk on your way out, Mr. Potter," she said, before leaving the room.

Harry pushed back the bed covers and stood up. Before he'd made it two steps across the room, the door opened again and someone burst through and attacked Harry.

Malfoy leaped to his feet and drew his wand, but Ron's entrance a second after Hermione stopped him just before he utterly destroyed his probation by hexing a pregnant lady. He sat back down again with a sneer, muttering something under his breath that sounded to Harry to be very much like "hormones".

Harry held Hermione back at arm's distance. "Hermione? Are you okay?"

Hermione wrestled out of his grasp. "Am _I_ okay? Harry James Potter, are you insane? You're committed with Severe Proximity, and you're asking if I'm okay? It's worse than I thought." She turned to her husband. "Ronald, it's worse than I thought."

Ron held up his hands. "Don't _Ronald_ me," he said defensively. "I haven't done anything."

Hermione glared, but turned back to Harry. Harry took a step back.

"When were you going to tell us?"

"Hermione, don't you think you should try to avoid getting worked up in that state?"

In the background, Ron dropped his head into his hands.

"What?!" Hermione shrieked. "You pull this sneaky, deliberate subterfuge, and then tell me to avoid getting worked up?"

Malfoy sighed and stood up. "Granger," he said calmly.

Hermione whipped her head toward him. "It's _Weasley_ ," she hissed.

Malfoy shrugged. "You'll always be Granger to me. Now, Granger, we all know that Potter is an idiot. I know it. You know it. He knows it, though he fights it every day, bless him. So if we can agree on this, and not bother with the whys and wherefores, I think we'll find this conversation a lot more productive. Potter has been discharged. He will not be allowed near dark artefacts for several months, until their residual taint has entirely disappeared from his magic."

Hermione frowned. "But, surely he can't be that tainted? How long has he been exposed to the collection?"

"Remember, Granger. He is an idiot."

"I'm right here," Harry reminded him, somewhat indignantly.

"Yes, so you could back me up, you know. You are an idiot, and you've been building your collection for several years, because you are an idiot."

Harry sat back down on the bed and groaned, while Hermione turned to him with a horrified expression.

"Years, Harry?" she whispered. "When were you going to tell us?"

"Maybe when I thought you might be able to have an adult conversation about it?" Harry snapped. "So what? I was collecting things. It's interesting. It's even helped me with my work. People have entirely the wrong attitude toward the dark arts. We should be working to understand it, so that it can't beat us."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean we let it into our homes."

Harry threw his hands up in exasperation. "Fine. I'm an idiot."

"Thank you." Malfoy shot him a grin.

Harry ignored him. "But it doesn't matter anymore, does it? They're all gone. Malfoy burned the whole damn lot. So I'm going cold turkey on the path to blissful, bloody ignorance, just like the rest of you."

Hermione frowned, but seemed to have run out of arguments. Ron stepped forward. "How are you feeling, mate?" he asked, after a tentative glance at his wife.

Harry smiled gratefully at him. "Pretty good, actually," he said. "I'll just go home and have a sleep or something."

"You should come back with us," Hermione suggested. "It will take several days for the cleansing spells to drain your apartment. It's best if you're not around them while it's happening."

"He's coming home with me," Malfoy interrupted. Harry looked over in surprise.

"Er," he said, while Hermione and Ron gaped at him. "Yeah. I'm going with Malfoy."

There was a pause. "I know you work together," Ron said carefully. "But, living together? Won't you kill each other?"

Ron had tried to understand Harry and Malfoy's work relationship, but had only ever been able to listen as far as "we still insult each other, but we don't really mean it anymore," before he was too drunk to comprehend anything further. Admittedly, Harry needed to be just as drunk to explain it, so they had quickly stopped trying.

"He'll be the perfect house-guest, I'm sure," Malfoy said drily. "And if he forgets to put the toilet seat down, I'm sure I'll manage."

Hermione finally nodded, although Ron still seemed perturbed, and they eventually made their way to the front desk to sign out.

"And you'll be careful, won't you, Harry?" Hermione asked seriously, after giving him a long hug goodbye. "You won't forget and accidentally go near any dark artefacts? I know it feels completely safe, but once they've tainted your magic, it's really hard to get rid of in one go. And you won't even notice it."

"I'll be fine, I promise," Harry assured her.

Ron and Hermione waved an awkward goodbye to Malfoy, and then they were apparating home to Malfoy's flat.

Harry stood in the hallway, unsure what to do now that the storm seemed to be over. Malfoy shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded his head down the corridor.

"Spare room's at the end," he said. "It's ready for you. I mean, it's ready. In general. So you can go straight to sleep if you want."

Harry was surprised to notice Malfoy's cheeks had gone a little pink. He'd never seen that before. He shook his head and moved down the corridor. "Yeah, thanks," he said. "I think I've crashed here before, haven't I? Though I was pretty drunk at the time."

"Yeah, probably," Malfoy's muffled reply came from the living room.

Harry went to the spare room, took off his shirt, and lay down immediately. He felt drained and confused. So much had happened so quickly, and he had no idea what he thought of it. Severe Proximity? He'd never even heard of that before. The idea that dark artefacts could taint your magic with prolonged exposure was something he'd simply never come across. Which seemed a strange concept, until he acknowledged that dark magic texts were hardly going to warn you away from them. Maybe he should have spent a little time reading the other point of view as well, even if he did disagree with most of it.

He shut his eyes. It didn't matter now, anyway. It was all over. He'd just stay here for a few days, sleeping beneath invasively green bed sheets, and trying not to think about the fact that Malfoy was sleeping only a few metres away on the other side of a wall.

His eyes snapped open. _Where had that thought come from?_ The memory of Malfoy's pink cheeks forced its way into his head, and he sat up abruptly.

He didn't look at Malfoy that way. He didn't think about Malfoy that way. Where had those thoughts come from? He remembered the way Malfoy had looked at him, just before they had left for the hospital. He took a deep breath. It must simply be that he'd never had anyone stand up for him before, not like that. Hermione always did what she thought was right, but she never listened to what he had to say while doing it. She just doggedly went ahead with her plan unless proven wrong.

But Malfoy had looked at him, actually looked at him. Malfoy had cared about him. Cared enough to fight him, but to listen as well. Harry wasn't sure he'd ever had that before. Clearly it was confusing him. His thoughts were entirely muddled.

He got out of bed and made his way back to the living room. If he slept now, his thoughts would be full of Malfoy, and that was plainly unacceptable. He needed to remind himself just how much of a git Malfoy was, visually and intelligently, and then he'd be able to sleep soundly. Like a baby.

He grinned to himself. Fool-proof.

"Malfoy?" he called as he neared the doorway to the living room. "You in there or the kitchen?"

He rounded the corner and stopped at the sight of Malfoy standing in front of the fire and staring blankly ahead. His eyes were wide and unseeing. But more than that, there was an emotion there that Harry had never witnessed before. For all the apathy and boredom that Harry knew the two of them displayed on a daily basis, he had never seen Malfoy look so completely lost and afraid.

Then he noticed Harry. The expression was gone in an instant, so quickly that Harry could almost have sworn it was never there to begin with. Malfoy opened his mouth to speak, but stopped suddenly. He looked down at Harry's shirtless torso and swallowed.

Harry had the sudden, inescapable image in his mind of Malfoy's hands running across his skin, tracing the path his eyes had just taken. Harry's stomach jolted in approval.

It was too much. He turned and fled back to the spare room, yelling "G'night!" behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, so this a/n is a little bit of a downer. I debated a bit before deciding to write it, and you'll see why rather quickly. As often happens with things that I write (I'm guessing this is a writer thing, rather than being unique to me), it soon becomes apparent that the themes/ideas/whatever that I'm drawing on suddenly - and weirdly - become present in RL. Unless you're living under a rock, it should be obvious that I'm drawing parallels in this story with drug addiction. Well, shortly after starting this story, I learned that my closest friend is struggling quite heavily with addiction - heroin and ice. Largely, this revelation has had no impact on this story, although I am emotionally aware of it as I write certain scenes and draw on certain experiences. Honestly, this story is quite cathartic in that respect. However, recently things have gotten quite bad in RL, and I'm not 100% convinced that this real story is going to have a happy ending. Why am I telling you all this? Because I'm a stupidly honest person. And because, from now on, there might suddenly be long gaps in chapter releases, and I feel that if people are questioning it or getting upset, it will make me feel dreadful to suddenly drop this bomb on people who are not expecting it. Or to sit there in silence while people wonder where I am. All this being said, I actually don't expect I'll be any slower updating than usual… this story truly is cathartic, and when you're dealing with something like this (some of you may know), life has this strange way of carrying on even when you feel like all time should stop and space should come crashing down on our heads. So, when you read the humor in this story, please don't think "wow, what a heartless bitch, she's clearly ignoring the very real danger going on". That's not what's happening. This story is just largely removed from the real situation, and I'm able to lose myself in these characters and their choices, which will have a happy ending. But RL might not. And I might disappear suddenly. And I might not be able to write certain scenes with where I know this is going. So please bear with me if that happens. I'm sorry for over-sharing something so dramatic and largely unnecessary; I'm a sharing, talkative sort of person, and this story has been so relevant to everything that I wanted to add something now, since I don't know what will happen in the future. Sometimes things look up. Sometimes things look down. That's the nature of drug addiction. You take it one hour at a time. Also, if you were all set to make a happy comment about the chapter, please still do. I don't want to change how you feel about this story. And I still want to hear that you enjoy it. I would prefer you comment on the story and totally ignore this note, rather than the other way around. Even now, I'm thinking of removing this bloody a/n because I'm anticipating responses that assume I'm writing it for the drama and attention. A valid point, and certainly not unheard of on the internet. I assure you, I'm not. But if you think I am, please feel free to ignore this note entirely, thereby not giving me the 'satisfaction' of the attention you think I'm craving. I really don't care. It's just a note. It's past midnight, and I want to say it.


	5. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, all of you, for the lovely things you've said :) You're all absolutely amazing people and I'm so grateful that for some bizarre reason you're still here reading this and being supporting of a complete stranger. I didn't mean to disappear for so long between updates. Just haven't found the time or energy to sit down and move on with this one, particularly with the Quidditch League coming up to finals. But it's moving along now!! (Update - she's doing well at the moment... It's been a messy month, but things are looking okay for now.) (This is unbeta'd, since I just wanted to update....)

When Harry woke up, it took him several minutes to work out that it was Sunday and that he was lying in Draco Malfoy's spare bed. He froze, trying to work out why that thought made him uncomfortable yet strangely tingly at the same time.

The image of fingers on skin ran through his head again, and he leaped out of bed with a yelp.

Footsteps sounded quickly in the corridor and the door suddenly burst open.

"Potter?" Malfoy ran through, looking all around the room as if expecting it to be full of people. "What happened? Did you bring some of it with you?"

"What?" Harry snapped, crossing his arms to cover his chest. "No. What the hell, Malfoy?"

Malfoy finished his assessment of the room and visibly relaxed. He turned to Harry, his usual sneer falling back into place. "Oh, I'm sorry, did I just think the worst of someone who has so far proven to be reckless, impulsive, and generally pig-headed in the face of their own health? My mistake. I guess I should give you the benefit of the doubt."

Harry ran his hand through his hair, relaxing now that his ears and eyes had happily reminded him that Malfoy was an arsehole. "Sod off," he said with a grin. "What's for breakfast?"

Malfoy left the room, talking to Harry over his shoulder. "I only cook for people with basic human etiquette. Put a shirt on."

Harry rolled his eyes, but grabbed a t-shirt from his hastily packed bag on the floor. By the time he had made it into the kitchen, Malfoy was already poaching eggs, with bacon sizzling in another pan. Harry found it surprisingly domestic.

"So, I had to cancel on Pavarti last night," Malfoy said casually. Although there was no accusation in his tone, Harry felt guilty. "So we're going out for lunch. Do you think you'll be alright here on your own?"

Harry looked up to find Malfoy watching him. He was momentarily taken aback by the intensity in his eyes, and it hit him again just how strange it was to have Malfoy caring for him. Light hearted, vaguely insulting camaraderie was one thing, empathy and concern was another. And yet, it didn't feel as strange as it should.

"I'll be fine," he said. "Enjoy your date."

Malfoy watched him for a beat longer, before turning back to the eggs. "You'll feel a little light headed for a few days," he continued. "But since we destroyed everything, it should pass without you experiencing too many symptoms."

"What sort of symptoms?" Harry asked, taking a seat.

Malfoy made an exasperated noise. "Honestly, were you even paying attention last night? The itching, the restlessness, the inability to concentrate, and, of course, the undeniable urge to dabble in the dark arts." He gave Harry a pointed look.

Harry remembered the offering he had made and stayed silent. As much as it hurt, it probably was a good thing that his entire collection had been destroyed.

"You'll also likely be a temperamental arsehat," Malfoy added. "But we're used to that, aren't we, dear?"

Harry threw the salt shaker at his head. Malfoy floated it onto the shelf with a casual flick of his hand. "No need to prove my point with a demonstration. No one was questioning it."

They ate their breakfast in relative silence. Malfoy seemed oddly moody, which Harry attributed to him missing his date with Pavarti, and Harry was in no mood to talk either. Now that Malfoy had brought it up, he felt restless and irritable, though he didn't know if he was bringing it on himself by expecting it.

"Right," Malfoy said, standing up. "I'm going to get ready and leave. I know I destroyed your apartment, but please don't return the favour while I'm gone. You deserved it; I don't."

Harry raised an eyebrow in response.

"And I can see the temperamental arsehattedness has already begun," Malfoy said with a smirk. "Perfect time for me to leave." He sent the dishes to the sink with another wave of his hand, and left the room.

Harry stood and looked around awkwardly. If he were at home, he would have had any number of books to read or objects to investigate. Or at least, he would have before yesterday. But here, at Malfoy's flat, he didn't know what he could look at without it being considered prying.

He moved into the living room and sat down on the couch. There was a well-stocked bookcase by the fire. Surely that was acceptable? He stood and read some of the titles.

"Westerns? Are you bloody serious, Malfoy?"

"Yeehaw!" Malfoy yelled from the bathroom.

Harry pulled a book down and flipped to a random page. He read a paragraph and shoved it back, his lip curled in disgust.

Malfoy leaned around the corner of the doorway, running a comb through his hair and bringing a cloud of cologne with him. "They're utterly fascinating," he said airily. "Clumsy dueling, macho dialogue that is clearly an overcompensation. I can't get enough of them. Consider them a guilty pleasure."

Harry stared at Malfoy, his mouth hanging open. Never in his life had he pictured that Malfoy would have a guilty pleasure, particularly one as tacky as this. Who knew that living with Malfoy would so quickly reveal more about his Auror partner than four years of close quarters had done.

Malfoy finished combing his hair and straightened his shirt. "There are classics in there too, if you're going to be a snob about it," he said with a smirk, turning back to the bathroom.

Draco Malfoy had just called him a snob. Harry ran his fingers through his hair, wondering if he could put this morning down to withdrawal symptoms.

"I'm off. Don't wait up," Malfoy called after him.

Harry heard the front door slam, and then he was alone. He went to sit on the couch, and then stopped at the last second, moving instead to the armchair by the fire.

He was not reading a Western; he was sure of that. He drummed his fingers on the armchair, staring around the room. He could play cards, but that was boring. Hermione and Ron were busy - they had told him that last night. Regrettably, of course, but nonetheless - busy. He could owl Amy, but he didn't feel like a last minute date.

He didn't feel like a last minute anything. He didn't want to see anyone, but he needed to move. To do something. He scratched idly at his arm, before he realised exactly what was happening and smacked himself in the forehead.

He looked down at his arm and saw small droplets of blood swelling to the surface. He frowned - how long had he been scratching? Until now, he hadn't particularly thought much of his apparent illness. He had been told he had Severe Proximity, but what did that really matter? Malfoy had destroyed his possessions, and he could move home in a few days. It was all over.

But here were the symptoms Malfoy had mentioned. Maybe this was going to be more uncomfortable than he had thought. Maybe it was time he took this seriously.

He pulled down _Moby Dick_ from the bookshelf and began to read.

One hour later, he realised just exactly how seriously he needed to take this. His arm was covered in long gauges that he couldn't bring himself to heal, for fear that he'd just make them again. He felt like wasps were buzzing beneath his skin, he had such an intense need to move, to do something. Anything.

Well, one thing, mainly.

He threw the book across the room and began to pace. This couldn't be right. He had never felt like this before. This had to be because Malfoy had destroyed his collection. What had Malfoy said? He removed one item as a token effort, and the rest protested? Well, something was certainly protesting now. There had been things that Malfoy couldn't destroy, that he'd simply vanished instead, and of course Harry would still be linked to them. They would still be affecting him.

He needed to find them. He needed to stop what was going on in his head and in his skin so that he could think clearly and figure out how to fix this. Clearly, sudden abstinence was madness.

And really, the problem was that they were in his house. Not that he had them at all. Malfoy had said that destruction was the only way, but he had destroyed more than two thirds of them. It would be fine. Malfoy was just overreacting.

He began searching through the cupboards in the living room before realising that there was no way that Malfoy would keep anything in here. Harry ran his hands through his hair and tried to think through the buzzing. He would have to have stored them far away from here. In all likelihood, Harry wouldn't be able to find them. Particularly since Malfoy couldn't be found in possession of such items anyway, or the Ministry would revoke his pardon.

Which meant Harry would have to get something new. He ran through his list of suppliers in his head, settling on who would be the most likely to have current stock available at the last minute. He ran to the spare bedroom, grabbed his Invisibility Cloak, and disapparated.

Forty minutes later, he stored the knife safely in Kreacher's closet at Grimmauld Place. His supplier had assured him that the knife had been used in Death Eater rituals from Voldemort's first reign, and had a reputation of bringing ill luck to the owner. Harry had owned plenty of ill luck items, and none of them had ever made a difference to his own fortune. It was silly superstition.

But the knife was perfect. Harry had run through several blood magic spells, before settling on another strength giver. It gave him an odd sense of satisfaction, to use the very instruments that were apparently destroying him, to help him overcome them. He adjusted the knife on its cloth bed and left.

Arriving back at Malfoy's flat, he suddenly found the Westerns far easier to stomach. Humorous, even. His head felt clear for the first time in days, and when he healed the cuts on his arm he had no desire to make them again.

He read several chapters of a Western titled _Gunslinger_ , before putting it down and leaning back with a contented sigh. He'd been wrong to get caught up in Malfoy's fear. After living with Voldemort for so long, and with his probation resting on his choices, Malfoy was understandably against all forms of dark magic. And Hermione - of course Hermione would be dead against him touching even the slightest artefact until this Severe Proximity, whatever it was, was out of his system.

But he had lasted four years before anything had gone wrong. He didn't need to go cold turkey; he just needed to distance himself from it and keep it out of his house. Coming to that realisation made him feel such a sense of relief and calm that, for the first time, he felt confident about the way forward. They were just overreacting because they were scared and used to the need to be cautious.

He felt his eyes droop, and wondered if he should feel guilty at the thought of a nap. He decided that no, he had earned it. He wriggled further into the chair, searching for that comfortable position that would let him drift off. Something dug into his back.

He reached down behind the seat and pulled out a small book with a red cover. He moved to toss it aside, when the title caught his attention.

_The Cowboy's Choice_

This didn't sound like the other Westerns Malfoy read. Harry opened it up in the middle and began to read.

_Billy's eyes slid up to Jed's, and he became painfully aware that there was no one left in the house but the two of them. Without looking away, Billy moved his hand lower, to the band of his jeans. He hooked his thumb through one of the belt loops and let his fingers fall idly to the front._

_Jed's eyes followed the movement, his pupils wide and dark._

" _I was thinking," Billy said quietly._

Harry yelped and dropped the book. For several long minutes, Harry stared at the book in his lap as if it might suddenly grow fangs and attack him. The sound of his heartbeat thudded in his ears, and when he swallowed he swore it must be audible through the entire flat.

Malfoy was reading this. The words 'guilty pleasure' flooded Harry's brain until he could think of little else.

This was more than a guilty pleasure. This was…

… this was something he had never considered. In all the dates he had gone on, in all the idle dreams he had dallied in while stroking himself to completion, he had never imagined that his partner could be a man.

Even last night, when thoughts of Malfoy had…

He swallowed again, the sound echoing in his ears. It had been a passing thought, not a possibility. He knew that people were gay, of course. He wasn't living under a rock. But for some reason, while growing up, he had never considered it as something that could apply to someone he knew. Certainly not to himself. Oddly, he had found himself a little too preoccupied with death to be focusing on things like that.

And then, by the time he had grown up, all of those details were _clearly_ already worked out, so he had never spared it another thought. The fact that his dates were always somewhat lacklustre was simply due to the fact that he hadn't found the right woman yet. His thoughts of Malfoy were an obscenity brought on by stress and the well overdue need for a proper date.

Unless they weren't. And if they weren't, it was clear that Malfoy wasn't exactly… adverse to the idea.

Harry picked up the book carefully, between his thumb and forefinger. _The Cowboy's Choice_. It wasn't a choice, but you could choose to ignore it. What if Harry had accidentally chosen to ignore it, because he was too preoccupied with Voldemort? What if Harry had ignored it for all of his teenage years, and then, by the time he was ready to date properly, he had just assumed that he was straight? Because for christ's sake, he'd have to be an idiot to not know his sexuality by then.

No. This was too illogical. He would have to be an idiot. Surely he would have noticed. His hormones should have kicked in, if nothing else. A preoccupation with Voldemort could not justify this, no way.

But then, he had been somewhat preoccupied with someone else for his teenage years, too.

Harry's heartbeat quickened, his mind racing to keep up. Thoughts of Malfoy, bantering lightly with him in the pub, filled his mind. He remembered Malfoy standing up for him, respecting him. He remembered, more recently, Malfoy caring for him in a way that no one else had quite managed to do.

Tentatively, he brought to his mind the images he had fought to repress - Malfoy, running his hands along Harry's bare skin. It wasn't unwelcome. It was really, really not unwelcome.

Fuck. He wasn't just gay.

He was in love with Draco Malfoy.


	6. Chapter Fifteen

 

When Malfoy came back that evening, Harry had himself firmly under control. It was going to be okay. He had hidden it from himself for over seven years; he could hide it from Malfoy.

“Hey,” he said, without looking up from his book. “How was your date?”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Malfoy take off his jacket and hang it on the coat stand. “Wonderful,” Malfoy drawled. “She’s quite a catch.”

Malfoy slipped off his shoes and dropped down on the couch across from the arm chair. Harry finally had to look up, or he would be drawing attention to himself.

Malfoy eyed him curiously. “You seem tense,” he mused. “Though not as tense as I would have thought. How are you coping with the withdrawals?”

“Fine,” Harry said with a shrug. “I think it’ll all be fine.”

Malfoy studied him, but nodded. “You look peaky,” he said. “But that’s to be expected. I’d be more concerned if you were feeling great.”

Harry gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and leaned back in his chair.

“So what’s next for you and Parvati?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. “You said you were getting serious.” To his horror, now that he was aware of it, he could detect a small note of jealousy in his tone.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows at Harry’s question, but didn’t indicate one way or another if he had noticed the jealousy. “We are,” he said with a smirk. “I guess one night soon I might have to send you out of the house.”

Harry stiffened, but forced a smile. “It’ll be a good excuse to see Amy.” He bared his teeth, inwardly groaning that he was obviously so far gone that he couldn’t help but throw that in Malfoy’s face in the hopes that he would be jealous too.

As if Malfoy would be jealous.

Malfoy’s jaw twitched. “Aren’t we both lucky.” He stood up and walked into the kitchen. “Tea, Potter?”

Malfoy made them both tea in silence, while Harry contemplated how long he would have to stay here before Malfoy would let him go back to his apartment.

“If you need me, I’ll be in my room,” Malfoy said suddenly as he handed Harry his tea.

Harry blinked in surprise, but nodded. He supposed that did make things easier, although he was strangely upset.

 

***

 

Monday morning, Malfoy and Harry decided to hunt down Smith and Wilson.

“Ah, there you two are,” Malfoy said with a grin as they met the two Aurors at the elevator. “We thought we’d missed you.” He clapped his hands aggressively on both their shoulders and steered them away from the open doors.

“Listen, we wanted a little chat,” he said as he thrust them into the closest tea room.

Harry leaned back against the counter and smirked. He was feeling really good since his small relapse on the weekend. Taking only small doses until he could stop altogether was obviously the way to do it.

Wilson blustered, drawing himself up to his full height - several inches shorter than Malfoy. “What is the meaning of this?” he snapped. “You two are on ward duty. We’re in the field. You can’t do anything about it.”

Malfoy leered at Wilson. “As Head Aurors on your case, Wilson, we can do whatever we like about it so long as it doesn’t contravene our darling Head’s orders. And I don’t know about you, Potter, but I’m feeling creative.”

Smith shrunk. “What do you want?”

“How were your investigations the other day?” Malfoy asked, ignoring him. “Any leads in our suspects?” He grinned.

Harry remembered the list of Malfoy’s favourite restaurants and fought back a laugh.

“We’re confident we’ll get something out of them soon,” Smith stammered, while Wilson glared at both Malfoy and Harry. “They were starting to crack.”

“Good man,” Malfoy sneered. “Now, we’re going to need _immediate_ updates on any evidence, alright? Not a weekly report, not a brief summary - _constant updates_. Patronuses are used for a reason. You find something; we’re your backup. You got that? Don’t call _anyone_ else.”

“I hardly think those were Mr. Wiffleston’s orders,” Wilson protested. “You weren’t to be put on the field. You were to manage from afar.”

“ _Manage_ ,” Malfoy interrupted. “Look the word up in a dictionary. Now get out of my sight.”

“Do you think they’ll do it?” Harry asked as the two Aurors scurried out.

“Smith will,” Malfoy replied. “If Wilson doesn’t veto him. At least this gives us a chance of making it out on the case still. With security as tight as it is, I think Wiffleston is going to be breathing down our necks a little too harshly for us to sneak out, otherwise.”

As if summoned, Wifflesont strode into the tea room. “We need those wards doubled!” he barked. “We’ve just had another attack.”

“Where were the alarms?” Malfoy asked, frowning.

“We’re trying to keep it under wraps,” Wiffleston said, straightening his robes. “It was disarmed before there was any explosion. But the point is, it made it through the wards. Which I believe was the responsibility of you two gentlemen.” He glared at them.

Much to Malfoy’s disgust, they were forced to spend the rest of the day reinforcing the wards.

It occurred to Harry that the Dark Magic Department could have something to offer by way of creative magical use, but for some reason he didn’t want to bring Malfoy back down there, so he stayed silent.

“Bloody pleb work,” Malfoy muttered, brushing past Harry to collect new potions from the cabinet. Harry flinched back from the touch.

“Oh, have you brought your note in from St. Mungos?” Malfoy asked, looking up at him suddenly.

Harry felt that Malfoy was far too close. How could he not notice how close they were?

“No,” he said shortly. “I don’t want Wiffleston to know unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

Malfoy acceded with a grimace.

As they left the office, they bumped into Arthur Weasley.

“Harry,” he said with a bright smile. “How’s the case?”

Harry shrugged. “Alright,” he said ruefully. “How’s your enchanted picture frame problem?”

Mr. Weasley sighed. “No luck,” he said. “I still can’t figure out where the items are coming from. They don’t seem to be stolen from anywhere. No reports of missing possessions. And the items are disappearing from the pictures before we can investigate too closely.”

Harry frowned. “Sounds like it’s a tricky one.”

Mr. Weasley waved a hand. “Nothing we can’t handle. We’ll see you for dinner soon, won’t we?” He turned to Malfoy suddenly, before Harry could reply. “You should come too, Draco.”

Malfoy blinked in surprise. “Er,” he said, sounding stunned for the first time in Harry’s memory. “Certainly.”

Mr. Weasley nodded and smiled. “I’ll talk to Molly and set a date.”

Harry grinned and nodded. “Thanks, Mr. Weasley.”

“Potter,” Malfoy hissed when they were in the elevator. “What was that all about? This is your doing, isn’t it?”

“No Malfoy,” Harry said patiently. “Believe it or not, Ron’s parents are very nice people who only wish you well. I work with you, and they know we get along, so it’s natural for them to invite you.”

“Shouldn’t you bring _Amy_ ,” he spat, running a hand through his hair and looking profoundly agitated. “I feel like I’m meeting your parents.”

Harry stiffened at the thought of bringing Malfoy home as his boyfriend and introducing him to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. He shook his head. “Don’t be a git,” he said lightly. “Come along and don’t you dare offend them. Mrs. Weasley’s a great cook.”

Malfoy snorted a laugh. “We’ll see about that.”

Harry glared at him, but he only blinked innocently.

When they were home, they managed to make it all the way through a pleasant dinner at Malfoy’s when a loud pounding suddenly threatened to break down the door.

Malfoy’s eyes widened in alarm. “Stop hitting it!” he yelled, jumping up from the table and running to the door. “It’s mahogany!”

Harry heard the door open, and then screaming sounded through the house.

“I don’t care what it is, Draco Malfoy!”

Harry stared back toward the front of the house in alarm. He’d never heard Parvati scream like that. He heard a useless sort of shushing attempt from Malfoy, but no words.

“You blow me off for some ‘Potter emergency’ - whatever the hell that is - and then you ignore me for half our date - which, okay, fine, perhaps you were distracted - but then you talk about nothing but _Harry Potter_ when you finally do begin to acknowledge me, and then you _blow me off again for_ _dinner with Harry_ , and you expect me to take it all with a smile and a fruit basket?”

Harry heard the sound of something being thrown against the wall, and several things rolling along the floor.  

“ _Why don’t you two just marry each other?!_ ” Parvati finished in a yell that could be heard from Muggle London. “ _You couldn’t keep your eyes off each other in Hogwarts anyway!_ ”

Then the door slammed shut.

Harry stayed very still. He heard slow footsteps moving up the corridor, and for one panicked second he thought about apparating to Grimmauld Place.

Malfoy appeared in the doorway, one hand running through his hair and his eyes wide and unseeing.

“She’ll calm down,” Harry offered after a long silence.

“Don’t think so,” Malfoy countered, still staring straight ahead. “She’s pretty pissed.”

“I heard,” Harry said, tapping the side of his mug with his fingers.

The silence continued.

“So,” Harry said slowly. “What’re you going to do about her?”

Malfoy shrugged, coming to sit down on the other side of the table again. “Move on, I guess,” he said with a grin that was a lot more like his usual self. “It’s not like I loved her, anyway.” He laughed.

Harry remembered Malfoy’s speech about love, and grimaced inwardly. He couldn’t possibly be thinking what he was thinking, not when he knew that it couldn’t go anywhere. When Malfoy had made it perfectly clear it would never go anywhere.

He would only be headed for heartache. Knowing that he was in love with Malfoy… following that thought could never end well.

But none of that seemed to make a difference to the new knowledge that was spinning round and round in his head: Draco Malfoy was interested in men, and he was now single.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my best chapter, and a bit of a filler because some things needed setting up, but at least it’s an update xD I finally finished my fic for the HD Erised fest, and Quidditch finals are coming to an end, so this fic is nearly back as my number one writing priority - woo!! *hands readers a paddle to keep the bloody writer in line* (When I saw that the last update was 43 days ago I actually yelled "43 days?!" out loud.) Also, I'm on tumblr now - agentmoppet 
> 
>  
> 
> My friend is doing well. She’s booked in for a detox in a couple weeks, and rehab in 3 - 6 months (the earliest it can happen). That being said, she’s staying with her mum and the last I heard about this was a week or two ago. So I’m not sure if anything has changed.


	7. Chapter Sixteen

Malfoy leaned back with a weary sigh. “We need to make a break-through on this case, Potter.”

Harry frowned. “What does that have to do with Parvati?”

Malfoy made an exasperated noise. “Nothing. I've already forgotten about her. I'm just bored and this case is taking far too long. How could we not have any leads?”

“But- But you said it was going really well with her. It sounded like you cared a lot about her.” Harry was bewildered.

Malfoy stared at him like Harry couldn’t possibly be this dumb, which made Harry remember that - of course - Malfoys didn't love. That harsh reminder of just how futile his crush was hit Harry like a physical wound, and he felt ill.

“I've been thinking,” Malfoy continued as if Harry hadn't spoken, “that we need to get a closer look at the smuggler’s trade if we're going to find out who's behind this. Wiffleston put us in charge, bless him, so it's time for us to show him exactly what that means. I'm sick of tip toeing around and letting him bog us down with bureaucracy.”

Harry couldn't help grinning at that. “When have you ever tip toed around?”

“Precisely. Apathy is no excuse for obedience, and I intend to change this at once.”

Harry realised suddenly that he hadn't felt his usual listlessness in quite some time. Not since the case had begun in earnest, and certainly not since his Severe Proximity had begun to cause trouble. As aggravating as both those things might be, he couldn’t help but be relieved at the change.

“If we leave at lunchtime, Wiffleston won't realise for several hours,” Harry said thoughtfully. 

Malfoy smirked at him, an odd look of relief in his eyes. “There's my clever little Auror partner. Glad you're back, Potter.”

***

“Pass the chips.”

Harry passed the chip packet wordlessly and re cast their Muffliato charm to mask the sound of Malfoy’s crunching. “It’s been two hours,” he said quietly. “Are you sure your sensors are working?” 

“Same wards as around the Ministry,” Malfoy muttered back. “If there’s anything matching Portentia’s signature within a 500 metre radius, we'll know. If we only had one potion to imbue the wards with, I'd be concerned, but we've seen tons of her potions by now so the warning should be quite fail safe.”

“But this is the main smuggling ring those bastards were part of.” Harry grabbed the now empty chip packet out of Malfoy’s hands and angrily threw it into their box of rubbish.

“Then they must be shipping them a different way. The sensors should pick up even recent traces from past shipments, and since we've been here two hours and found nothing, not even a glimmer, we'd best call it a day.” 

Malfoy looked uncharacteristically disheartened. Harry felt the bizarre urge to cheer him up, but when Malfoy got like this, nothing short of finding a lead would change his mood.

Harry had a thought. “You know,” he said slowly. “We could question one.”

Malfoy looked up in surprise. “You mean...?”

“Put our elite interrogation skills into practice?” 

Malfoy grinned. “Oh, Potter, you shouldn't have.”

They made their way carefully down from their vantage point at the top of the old warehouse, covered in the invisibility cloak. Fortunately, the warehouse was newly built, its steel beams and staircases free of creaks and rattles. When they reached the floor, they stunned some poor sap who was storing goods in a room off to the side and shut the door after them. 

Malfoy whipped off the cloak, rolled up the sleeve on his left arm, and grinned. The smuggler - a young man of around eighteen and the one they had thought the weakest looking - took one look at the Dark Mark on Malfoy’s arm and whimpered.

“Listen up, love, because I'll only say this once,” Malfoy purred, surprising even Harry with the cruel edge to his voice. “Your mates stiffed me on my last Portentia run. Tell me when your next shipment is so that I can ensure I'm fairly compensated.” 

The boy - to his credit - set his jaw and refused to talk. Which seemed a good sign, because it meant they probably were in the right place. 

Malfoy grinned. It wasn't pleasant. “Are you aware that we have you surrounded?” He asked conversationally.

Harry obligingly cast a stinging hex on the boy's hand. 

The boy shrieked and caved in. “Alright, alright I'll tell you, just don't tell them I told you. They've booked a room at Sally’s for the tenth. Be there and you can strike a deal, I'm sure.”

None of that made any sense, but the closed door would soon be noticed. 

Malfoy nodded curtly. “Keep our chat to yourself, and I won't mention where I got the tidbit.”

The boy nodded, looking around the room in fear. Malfoy slipped back under the cloak and they left.

“None of that was legal,” Harry said sternly when they had found the car again. He was only half serious - the smile on Malfoy’s face was worth it.

Merlin, when had he become so pathetic? And how had it taken him this long to notice?

Malfoy shrugged. “Smith and Wilson are raiding the place to arrest the smugglers tomorrow anyway, so even if he does manage to tell the others about a Death Eater wanting info on Portentia’s next shipment, they're hardly going to connect it to me. There are enough Death Eaters still in hiding who would kill for her wares that even if they do know about me, I won't be their first thought.”

Back at the office, Harry had a message waiting for him from Amy, asking him to come to the shop when he was back. Checking that Wiffleston was nowhere nearby, he left Malfoy - whose mood had suddenly and inexplicably deteriorated - to go see what she wanted.

The bell above the door jingled, and Amy looked up. With a smirk she signalled for him to meet her out the front in five.

Harry could tell by the look on her face that it wasn't good news, but, strangely, he found he didn't care.

“Harry.” Amy shut the door behind her but didn't take off her apron, which Harry recognised as a bad sign.

He raised his eyebrows and waited. 

Amy laughed - a little awkwardly - and ran her hand through her hair. It was the first time Harry had seen her look less than cool. “Yeah, you guessed it. I think I need to take a break.”

“After one date?” Harry asked coldly.

“I know it's strange. It's just the timing, honestly. Something’s come up and this can't work right now. I'm sorry.”

Harry noticed that she actually did look genuinely sorry.

“If everything works out in a couple months or so, I'd like to try again,” she continued. “But I don't expect you to wait around.”

Harry said nothing.

Amy sighed. “So, I'll see you sometime?”

Harry paused, but finally relented. He smiled. “Sure, we'll see what happens.”

Amy looked relieved. “Right, well I'd better get back.”

They said goodbye awkwardly, and Harry left thinking about how that was the strangest break up he'd ever had.

“And how was the she-devil?” Malfoy asked with a sneer when Harry returned.

Harry huffed a laugh, still in shock from the strangeness of the conversation and the fact that he wasn't upset. Although, really, that should come as no surprise. “She needs a break.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up. “After one date? Well I did warn you I didn't like her.” He looked inappropriately pleased. “I guess that means I have to hurry up with my next date,” he said with a smirk. “Or you might - heaven forbid - think of catching up to me.”

Harry snorted. “Maybe we should forget about the competition,” he said, trying to mask how morose he felt at the thought of watching Malfoy date woman after woman while flaunting it in his face.

“That's the attitude of a quitter.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, so I was thinking.” Malfoy stuck his feet up on the desk and looked thoughtfully into the distance.”

“Here we go.”

“We need to learn more about these potions if we're to find out where the cache is and stop the trade.” He eyed the two foot stack of paper on his desk querelously. “And I, for one, don't feel like compiling Bozo one and Bozo two's reports. So I've decided we should go back to the Dark Magic ward and see if they have any information on her.” He suddenly narrowed his eyes at Harry. “You will, of course, be under strict supervision. If you even think of secreting anything out of there, Potter, I will transfigure you into a gnat so quickly you’ll forget how to breathe.”

Harry, the picture of a mature adult, pulled a face and left the room, leading the way to the ward.

The ghosts were used to them by now, merely welcoming them and offering assistance before going back to their tasks.

“Those texts you lent us were most appreciated,” Reginald said in a hushed tone to Harry as he settled down at the table between Reginald and Barnaby. Fortunately, Malfoy was still scanning the shelves and didn't hear.

“Don't mention it,” Harry said wryly. 

Reginald shushed him, so he turned to his text and began to research.

Sometime close to the hour, Malfoy had a three foot parchment of notes to Harry’s one foot, and Harry had discovered an excellent spell that could solve his withdrawal problems.

He had read it several times already, committing it to memory, and was fairly certain that it would allow him to make a continuous offering in exchange for clarity of mind and spirit. At least that's what Harry could make out. It would drain him physically - that was the offering part - but the constant reassurance of dark magic flowing through him would hopefully counter that, and, bonus, it might help with their case.

He ignored the fact that Malfoy would kill him if he found out. 

It was strange, but now that he had acknowledged his feelings for Malfoy, he realised just how much they permeated through everything that he did. He watched Malfoy constantly. The tilt of his head as he concentrated on something, the way his hands moved elegantly over parchment, the scent of his shampoo.

Just listening to Malfoy snarkily argue about something with Wiffleston was reassuring to him, the way it reminded him that he wasn't alone in this crazy world that put the kind of people who counted the number of sugar sachets used per tea break in charge of justice.

Malfoy was reassuring to him. When had that happened?

It made him feel ever so slightly guilty that he was going behind Malfoy’s back. But what was he supposed to do? It was better this way. He was right - he was sure of it. Malfoy just didn't understand how it worked.

“Potter,” a slow voice drawled over his shoulder. “That doesn't look potion-related. What are you reading?”

Harry froze. Malfoy couldn't find out. He'd watch him even closer, and then Harry wouldn't be able to survive the withdrawals. He needed to distracted Malfoy. 

He did the only thing that made sense.

He kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger xD Next chapter is half written so should be quicker...
> 
> (Through some stroke of luck, she got into rehab early :) She's there now, assuming detox went fine. Will be there for either 4 months or a year, which is all positive news.)


	8. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slinks in quietly* *slides chapter across table* *sprints out*

Malfoy froze. Harry felt him stiffen and pull back, and inwardly Harry cursed his own stupidity. Stupidity for being caught looking at dark magic, and stupidity for ruining everything between them in a moment of weakness.

Malfoy stepped back and stared at him, his face pale. “You're not gay.” His voice sounded weak.

“Neither are you,” Harry said, before he realised that wasn't even slightly relevant to the argument. 

Malfoy continued to stare at him. “Actually,” he said slowly, seeming almost unaware that he was talking. “I'm not- I'm not straight either.”

Then Harry realised that Malfoy’s pupils weren't dilated in fear. Suddenly, he forgot how to breathe.

Slowly, Malfoy stepped forward and kissed him. It was gentle, almost sweet, but earnest in a way Harry had never experienced. 

Harry made a sound - he didn't know what and he wasn't aware of making it - and Malfoy broke. In a furious mess of gasps and breathless moans they somehow made it out of the ward and out of the Ministry and apparated home, though Harry couldn't have said how. 

And then they were home, and there was Malfoy, and Harry was there too of course, and the whole thing just felt so surreal that he couldn't quite believe it was happening. 

Malfoy brought his hands up to Harry’s face and held them there, before slowly bending down to kiss him again. They were back to slow, sweet kisses, which Harry found he was immeasurably thankful for. While he might no longer hold any doubts about his feelings for Malfoy, everything about this was still very new. That it was Malfoy, that it was a man, that it was with someone who - thank Merlin - didn’t stare at him with even a small amount of hero-worship. 

No, Malfoy was worshipping him in a very different way. 

Harry reached down and began to unbutton Malfoy’s shirt, button by button. He hoped Malfoy wouldn’t notice his fingers were shaking. If he did notice, then Harry’s attempts to present himself as the perfect one night stand for someone who ‘doesn’t love’ might fail before they even began. 

Deep down, he acknowledged that his self respect should have more to say about this, but if this was the only way he might be able to have what he wanted, did it really matter?

Malfoy gasped as Harry’s fingers slid inside his shirt, and he pulled back just enough for Harry to see his face: eyes closed, and lips parted in what looked almost like rapture. 

Unable to stop himself, Harry leaned forward and kissed Malfoy’s jaw lightly, working his way down his jawline until he could slip lower, to his neck, to his collarbone - any section of skin he could find. He knew these weren’t the kind of kisses you gave when you didn’t love someone. This wasn’t the furious, urgent,  _ transient _ kind of making out that you did when it didn’t mean anything, when it was just two people attracted to each other and willing to fool around. This was a prelude to making love, something he had never done. Something he shouldn’t be doing right now, not if he wanted to ever do this again. 

But he couldn’t help it. He just hoped Malfoy didn’t notice. 

Malfoy’s occasional gasps had become panting, quick and heavy, and Harry could feel Malfoy’s body shudder beneath his lips. 

“Potter,” Malfoy rasped. “You’re- what are you doing?”

Harry felt a jolt hit him as he heard the uncertainty in Malfoy’s voice. He was taking too long, he was exploring Malfoy with too much reverence. He was giving himself away. He needed to be harsher. 

He ripped Malfoy’s shirt from his shoulders and pushed him back against the wall. A surprised noise escaped Malfoy’s throat as his back hit the plaster, and then they were kissing again. This time it was Malfoy’s hands on Harry’s body as he fought to pull Harry’s shirt over his head without interrupting their kiss. 

Malfoy finally gave an exasperated grunt, pulled back, and ripped Harry’s shirt off, knocking his glasses askew. Harry stumbled as Malfoy pushed him back until his knees hit the edge of the bed - when had they made it to the bedroom? - and he fell helplessly onto his back. 

Malfoy paused, and Harry could see his pulse thudding against his collarbone. His eyes ran over Harry’s body and he seemed suddenly overwhelmed. Harry could almost see the thoughts racing through his mind. 

Apart from quick clothing changes in the communal showers at the Ministry, Harry had never seen Malfoy shirtless before. His pale skin was smooth, almost unmarred by scars despite the numerous scrapes they’d both been in. The only unnatural lines on his torso were three jagged cuts above his heart. 

Harry’s eyes met Malfoy’s, and the shrewd look there told him that Malfoy knew exactly what he was thinking. To Harry’s surprise, Malfoy rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to wuss out because of that,” he said quietly, his voice rough. “It was long ago.” He suddenly smirked. “If you like, you could make it up to me now? Tit for tat?”

Harry laughed breathlessly. “I always knew you’d be a kinky bastard.”

Malfoy knelt over him, his hands on either side of Harry’s shoulders and all previous hints of hesitation gone without a trace. “Don’t like it rough, Potter? Maybe later.” 

Then his mouth descended on Harry’s again and Harry forgot to pay attention to anything. He could feel Malfoy moving above him, freeing them both of clothing and kicking away the sheets and blankets so that their feet were no longer tangled in sweat and linen. 

Malfoy’s mouth moved lower, and Harry thought he could feel him mouthing words against his skin, but he was speaking too softly for Harry to hear, and then suddenly his tongue reached a spot just near Harry’s hipbone and Harry arched up with a moan just before Malfoy’s lips closed around him.

From then on all he could remember was a blur of sensations. The way the moonlight hit the arch of Malfoy’s shoulder. The scent of Malfoy’s neck as he moved above Harry. The expression of open wonder on his face as Harry moved above him. 

Sometimes Harry froze, uncertain if what he was doing was right or good for Malfoy at all - it was like all his past experience had never happened. This meant so much more, although he fought desperately to pretend it didn’t, trading the tender kisses he longed to give for passionate bites and moans. 

Malfoy either didn’t notice or didn’t mind, and to Harry’s surprise, he sometimes seemed hesitant as well. His eyes would suddenly fall on Harry’s neck or the side of his face and he would stop, looking almost startled, and run his thumb gently over the places where the shadows of his chin or nose or cheeks must fall. Harry wondered if Malfoy had ever been with a man before; if that was why he kept catching himself by surprise. Or maybe it was just that it was Harry, and neither of them had ever looked at each other like this before. 

Harry let out an involuntary groan; of course he had looked at Malfoy like this. He had always looked at Malfoy like this - he had just never realised. And now that he did realise, he had to make sure Malfoy never did, or he would surely lose him altogether. Though a part of him knew that no matter how much he tried to distance himself, this was doomed to fail. 

Malfoy bit down gently on Harry’s earlobe, and Harry forgot to care. 

Later, when Harry was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling with the sweat already cooling on his skin, he acknowledged that Malfoy had been far more tender than Harry would ever have guessed. That was a problem. It would make it harder to remember what Malfoy had made so very clear; that he would never - could never - love anyone. 

Harry sighed and resolved to make sure that Malfoy would have absolutely no doubts that Harry was only in this for a fling, just like him. 

“I guess you can’t kick me out at least, since I’m living here,” Harry murmured sleepily, trying to make his voice light.

There were several seconds of confused silence. “Why the fuck would I kick you out?” Malfoy mumbled into his pillow.

Harry frowned. “Er, well-”

“Do  _ you  _ kick people out right after you’ve shagged them?”

“No, but-”

“But you thought I would. Tosser.” Malfoy’s usual insult sounded strangely affectionate. Then he paused, and Harry could see that the part of his face that wasn’t hidden was frowning. “But why would you think I would kick  _ you  _ out?” 

Harry shrugged, not knowing how to answer. 

Malfoy opened his mouth, as if it speak, but then shut it again. He rolled onto his side properly, so that he wasn’t face down on the pillow, and threw his arm over Harry, pulling him close. 

“Go to sleep, Potter.”

Harry shoved the part of his brain that kept shouting  _ this is futile _ deep, deep, down into the depths of his subconscious, and finally managed to fall asleep to the sound of Malfoy’s slow, rhythmic breaths. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My fic for HD Erised is up now, too :D It was an awesome fest, and I so enjoyed writing for the amazing mitsouparker (if you haven't checked out her art on tumblr, you're missing out) and reading all the amazing stories. It's up here - it's called Incongruent - if you're feeling like 40, 000 words of eighth year angst. (and hey, look, it's a finished fic from me for a change! Gotta love that...)


	9. Final Part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last like five chapters or whatever (they're not broken into chapters) and epilogue. At some point, I will probably go through and fix the bizarre chapter structure of this fic... But today is not that day. Enjoy; I finally f@#$%$ing finished this thing.
> 
> (also I've added some trigger warnings because of this final part, and honestly I think should have before I was just an idiot and I forgot. They're only mild references, but check them out just in case. Namely - cutting (not for depression - spell related), and drug use parallels).

When Harry awoke, it was to a cold, empty bed, the sun shining down onto the rumpled sheets beside him.

 _Strange_ , he thought as his mind slowly tried to pierce through the fog of sleep and function normally. _I thought Malfoy would be one of those people who made their bed every morning._

Then he realised that, of course, he couldn’t, because there was someone in it - Harry was in it - and he flushed crimson.

Now fully awake, he could hear noises coming from the kitchen. Quiet, domestic noises - the clink of a plate being set down on the bench, the hum of a muffled yawn. Something deep inside Harry gave a sharp twist, filling him with a longing so intense it felt like a physical blow. He wanted this. He wanted it to be real, but it wasn’t.

If he wasn’t already fully aware of the incredible devastation his impulsivity could cause, he would chide himself for the utter rashness of his actions last night. But what would be the point? As Malfoy would say, Harry was a filthy Gryffindor - the worst kind - and if that left Harry feeling alone and wretched after a night that had exceeded even his most daring dreams, leaving him more heartsore than he could have imagined, well… that was his problem, wasn’t it?

He pushed the covers slowly back and climbed out of bed. As he made his way into the kitchen, he repeated the mantra over and over in his mind like a shield: _this meant nothing. This meant nothing._

He opened the kitchen door. Draco’s eyes met his, and the mantra faltered. How could this mean nothing when Draco was looking at him like that? He took a deep breath and tried to keep his emotions from showing on his face.

“Morning, Malfoy.” He pasted a bright smile on his face.

Malfoy frowned slightly. “Malfoy?” His hands stilled, leaving eggs and bacon sizzling quietly in the pan. “A full night of screaming ‘Draco’ and you’re suddenly back to Malfoy?” His smirk was amused, but there was a slight flush on his cheeks.

Harry’s breath hitched, but he managed to maintain his composure. “You don’t think suddenly calling each other by first names might be a little strange?” He was quietly proud of the smirk he managed to give Malfoy; he had never had a one night stand or a casual relationship before, and he had no idea how to act so as not to make Malfoy go running to the hills.

There was no longer any trace of confidence or composure on Malfoy’s face. “I think, in light of recent events, continuing to call each other by last names would be stranger,” he said tightly, his eyes dark with anger.

Harry’s heart stammered. He had clearly said something wrong already, although he had no idea what it could be. Then again, perhaps that wasn’t as terrible as it felt. Perhaps it was better if Malfoy decided it wasn’t a good idea to continue this thing between them, whatever it was, because Harry had the terrible, sinking feeling that if they continued like last night, it would kill him.

Harry shrugged, avoiding Malfoy’s eyes. “Whatever you think,” he said lightly. “I can call you Draco if you like.”

“It’s not about what _I_ like.” Malfoy was staring at him intently, communicating something that Harry could not understand.

Harry stared back, unable to think of the right response - of any response. Malfoy had made it clear that he didn’t have serious relationships. Surely he would prefer if everything about their relationship stayed the same, so why would he want to suddenly change the way they spoke to each other?

Unless he didn’t. Unless he had been able to sense Harry’s true feelings, and he was angry because he thought Harry was about to change things.

“Well then, I’ve grown rather attached to ‘Potter’.” He reached for the kettle to make them both tea.

Malfoy’s expression was unreadable. Without a word, he turned back to the frypan and began viciously flipping the bacon. After several minutes of tense silence, he served it up onto a plate and practically threw it in front of Harry before walking out of the kitchen without a backward glance.

Harry stared after him open mouthed, and had just decided to follow him and demand to know what was going on when he heard the front door slam.

Harry stared at the bench for a long time, his mug of tea steaming in front of him and the bacon and eggs slowly cooling on their plate, before he pushed back abruptly and left the room. He thought of casting the spell in his bedroom - Malfoy’s guest room - but it felt somehow wrong, and besides, Malfoy would no doubt be able to sense it. So, making a brief stop over at Grimmauld Place, he apparated to his flat, charred and destroyed though it still was, and was shocked at the sense of calm he felt as soon as he passed through the wards.

He knew it was the lingering scent of magic recognising him and welcoming him home, but the thought didn’t scare him. He needed to slow down, he knew that. But he didn’t need to stop, not from this. This gentle welcome, like warm tendrils wrapping around him and making him feel like the strongest, best version of himself, was not what he was running from.

“I just went too far,” he muttered, settling himself down on the middle of the floor. “I didn’t know what I was doing, but I do now. I know the signs, and I’ll stop when I need to.”

He pulled the ritual knife from his pocket, turning it over and over, admiring the fine carvings on the handle and the blade. He could read only a couple of them. They spoke of loss and despair, which was unusual for a dark artefact. Ordinarily they would focus on power and sacrifice, but Harry assumed those sigils must be the ones he couldn’t read.

Very carefully, wincing at the sharp bite, he dug the knife into his forearm and sliced upwards. He had never made a blood offering like this before. His small forays into the rites he studied and cultivated had only ever required a token. This was a sacrifice: a deliberate weakening in exchange for strength. He would have to move beyond blood magic soon - he was sure he was limiting himself by offering the same weakness each time - but for now it would suit his purpose.

As he watched the blood well and flow, he murmured the incantation under his breath. Long minutes passed and he felt nothing, only increasing weakness from blood loss. He took a deep, shuddering breath, alarmed at the way the pale white of the carpet seemed to suddenly shimmer and glow. His stomach heaved, and he knew he was about to be violently ill.

He staggered to his feet and had nearly made it to the bathroom when everything pitched and rolled. He had enough time to consider what Malfoy would do when he finally discovered Harry here, passed out in an embarrassing pool of vomit, when everything suddenly snapped back into crystal focus.

He blinked slowly, tensing in the overwhelming silence. It filled his ears, echoing around and around until he had to double over and clamp his hands around his head to drown it out. He closed his eyes and counted slowly to ten.

Opening his eyes, he found the room had stilled, and the sounds had faded to something manageable. If he focused carefully, he could hear the small fluttering of leaves outside, and a soft sighing that sounded like wood shifting in the heat. Looking closely at the window sill, he saw movement as it creaked and expanded in the sun.

With a soft smile, he left the apartment.

He debated going back to the Dark Magic ward, but decided against it. He knew that researching the potions was important, but he wasn’t sure it was the right course of action just now. Instead, he decided to go back to the smuggler’s den.

Apparating with his senses heightened, while his body was physically weak, was even more disconcerting than his first portkey. When he arrived at the alley just down from the warehouse, he promptly doubled over and vomited.

When the waves of nausea had subsided, he pulled his cloak out of his pocket, hid himself beneath it, and made his way back to the warehouse.

He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. It wasn’t as though he was going to stumble on a map with “Sally’s” marked on it. But he had faith in the spell he had cast. There was something about this magic, something that filled him up and made him stronger than before. More alert. He couldn’t be that tired Auror, unable to feel anything stronger than a vague irritation at life and all its hassles, when his blood was flowing with this new strength and clarity. This magic might have dark origins - blood and sacrifice - but it wasn’t dark, and it didn’t make him dark. It made him who he wished he was.

He took a moment to quiet himself, drawing strength from everything around him.Then, he slipped inside the open doorway and into the darkness of the room beyond.

There was no one there, of course. The smugglers were long gone. Smith and Wilson had raided the place early this morning, before dawn, and there was nothing left to show for it. With any luck, their interrogation would have already revealed the location of the exchange. But Harry doubted it. Since the war, the Ministry had been so careful to play by the book that everyone knew they were in no danger of torture or anything untoward during an official interrogation. The information Harry and Malfoy had discovered while being disguised as criminals would not be revealed to an Auror.

He began to search, taking a long time to check in each nook and cranny for evidence of where they would be meeting on the tenth - tomorrow. After an hour, all he had to show for it was a pile of cigarette butts and an empty food wrapper.

Undeterred, he began mulling over the evidence. He turned the wrapper over and over in his hand, but there were no secret messages hidden on it. It was just an ordinary wrapper, like you find at any burger joint.

Harry frowned, a thought hitting him. There was a wizarding place near the Ministry called Sally’s Burgers, wasn’t there? A new fast food place, modelled after muggle restaurants. It could mean nothing, but with the crowds it had been drawing since opening, it would make the perfect cover. And it was near enough to the Ministry to explain why they kept sensing the potions, and to appeal to a criminal’s sense of dark amusement, right beneath the Auror’s noses.

Harry dropped the wrapper and apparated back to Malfoy’s apartment. 

When he arrived, the place was empty. The wards tingled, humming with something new as he walked in. Frowning, unable to detect what it was, he walked into the kitchen and found a note waiting for him.

_Potter._

_I’m unsure where you have disappeared to, but in light of the fact that you are a complete imbecile, I have taken liberties. The wards have been altered; I will now be informed when you enter and when you exit the apartment. Rest assured, if you leave again without letting me know where and why, I will investigate._

_I have also paid a visit to your apartment and Grimmauld Place. Don’t think I couldn’t sense you there. Fortunately for you, the stink of dark magic was so strong that I could not be certain if you had engaged in anything new. Nonetheless, your visit perturbed me, and I have reconstructed your broken wards and locked you from them._

_Think this measure somewhat harsh? Think again. You had no reason to be there, and your ailment is far from cured. Returning to your apartment will, at best, make your recovery more difficult. At worst…_

Harry could see some words had been scratched out ferociously. He held the parchment up to the light and thought he could faintly make out a sentence.

_I have been searching for you for hours._

Harry frowned and continued to read. The letter appeared to drop that thought and move straight along.

_The potion analysis has yielded nothing new; they provide immunity to dark magic. Hardly a breakthrough, considering it’s basically just an inconclusive way of saying they provide immunity to Portentia’s explosive potions, which we already knew. No doubt the criminals simply have them on hand for their own safety when handling the offensive potions._

_I have, however, received word from our charming colleagues that they have raided our smugglers, and so I am comparing their notes to what I can find in the Dark Magic Ward. You are not invited. You are to stay at home like a good boy, and when I return I expect an explanation for your whereabouts today._

_D._

Harry crumpled the letter and threw it into the bin. He could feel his heart racing in indignation. Malfoy wasn’t his keeper; he was free to come and go as he pleased, and Malfoy certainly had no right to treat him like a child.

He went to leave the apartment and then swore furiously when he remembered that Malfoy would be alerted to his comings and goings. Making a decision, he found a scrap of parchment and scrawled a quick note.

_Was seeing how many of my possessions survived your destruction._

_Don’t remember signing up for a nursemaid._

_I think the smugglers are using Sally’s burger joint as a meeting place. I’ll go there tomorrow unless you have a better idea._

Message delivered and feeling oddly drained from the day, he went to bed.

 

***

 

Malfoy slid the plate of french toast across the bench to Harry, his movements oddly careful.

Harry blinked the sleep away from his eyes and frowned. “What’s this?”

“Food,” Malfoy said flatly.

Harry opened his mouth to fire something back when it occurred to him that he had forgotten to eat yesterday. How had that happened? He bit down his reply and pulled the plate toward him, feeling his stomach protest his stupidity.

Malfoy cleared his throat, and Harry looked up despite his efforts to avoid eye contact.

“You only went back to see what was left?” Malfoy watched him closely.

Harry felt his anger rising again, but he also felt a strange sensation of guilt welling up inside him, even though he was convinced he had nothing to feel guilty for. He took a second before replying, getting his thoughts under control. “If you were wondering,” he said, unable to keep a hint of indignation from his tone, “there was nothing left.”

Malfoy smirked. “That was the intent.”

Harry’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

After a moment Malfoy sighed and dropped his gaze to his own plate. He began to pick at his toast, tearing it off into neat strips and popping each piece into his mouth one by one. “I don’t trust you, Potter,” he said.

Harry winced at the almost savage emphasis Malfoy put on his name. “You should,” he said gruffly, guilt make his tone harsh.

Malfoy shrugged delicately. “I don’t really care what you think. I don’t trust you, and that’s that. I’ve brought a book home.” He nodded his head toward a book that Harry now saw poking out of the bag sitting on the seat next to him.

Harry reached toward the bag, but Malfoy smacked his hand away. “You’re not to touch it.” His voice was stern.

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but then realised where the book must have come from. Malfoy nodded at the dawning realisation on Harry’s face.

“If I see that this book has moved so much as a centimetre, I will chain you to your bed.”

Harry swallowed at the images that suddenly flooded his mind. From the look on Malfoy’s face, the thought had occurred to him as well, whether he had intended it or not; judging by the flush creeping up his cheeks, he hadn’t.

Malfoy cleared his throat. “Anyway, we should stake out Sally’s. You could be onto something. And then we will return here. Together.”

Harry threw his toast back down onto his plate and glared fiercely at Malfoy. “You’re not my keeper,” he spat. “Thank you for looking after me, and for letting me stay here, but honestly if you’re going to treat me like a little kid then I’m leaving.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow and Harry had the sinking sensation he had walked into a trap.

“If you don’t want to be treated like a child, then don’t act like one.” Malfoy said smoothly. “Until you can prove to me that you’re not going to go rushing straight back to what’s killing you, I will keep you in my sight.”

“It wasn’t killing me,” Harry burst out. “It was messing me up, sure, but it-”

“What the bloody hell do you think it was doing when it was ‘messing you up’?” Malfoy suddenly yelled. Harry stopped, open mouthed at the uncharacteristic outburst of emotion. “Do you honestly think you were just a bit under the weather?” His voice continued to rise until Harry was leaning involuntarily back in his chair. “Potter, that magic was _draining the fucking life out of you,_ and until you recognise that and convince me that you’re going to keep well away from it, I’m not letting you go anywhere on your own. I shouldn’t have left you unchecked for so long - I thought you’d understood the severity of the situation, but then I find you’ve run straight back to your apartment the second I’m gone?” Malfoy’s chest heaved, his eyes shining with emotion as he stared at Harry across the kitchen bench. “Well, it’s not going to happen again,” Malfoy finished quietly.

They stared at each other, and in the surreal silence Harry noticed that Malfoy looked more than just angry. There was something like regret in Malfoy’s eyes, and Harry wondered if he felt guilty for leaving Harry alone like that yesterday morning. Malfoy had stormed out then, after all.

“Fine,” Harry said finally. “I’ll stay with you until you trust me.” He had no trouble getting the lie out; Malfoy was overreacting, and what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

They finished their meal in silence and left for Sally’s, not sure when the smugglers were intending to meet. They had decided to forego the cloak, since the likelihood of someone bumping into them in the crowded store was too high, but it was too impractical to use Polyjuice at the last minute, particularly when they weren’t meant to be out in the field in the first place. Instead, they opted for subtle transfiguration to their features, softening Malfoy’s pointed looks, hiding Harry’s scar, and adding various freckles and small changes to the both of them. When they had finished, Harry felt rather alarmed to see a stranger staring back at him with Malfoy’s eyes.

As soon as they sat down, Harry realised that, as he had suspected, the effects of the ritual had not left him. The noise of restaurant patrons rose around him like a tide, filling his ears until he had to hold his head until the gentle pressure of his hands alleviated the pain.

“You alright?” Malfoy asked quietly, picking apart his burger and managing - Harry knew from past experience - to keep tabs on everyone else in the room.

“Yep,” Harry muttered back, looking up at the ceiling and wondering how long his senses would be invaded with what smelled like a swimming pool sized vat of frying batter.

Through a combination of Notice-Me-Not and confundus charms, they managed to pass several hours without being hassled. Unfortunately, it was long and uneventful enough for Harry to spend most of it left alone with his thoughts.

His thoughts, which lingered on every movement Malfoy made: the small, economic movements of his hands as pulled apart his burger; the purse of his lips when he was thinking of something particularly intriguing; the casual way his eyes roamed over the room, taking note of the smallest detail.

Harry suppressed a shiver as he thought of those hands moving over him, remembering the reverent tracing of Malfoy’s long fingers over his body. Malfoy’s mouth, following the path of his fingers. His eyes shining in the moonlight as he hovered over Harry, gazing down at him before he descended and covered Harry’s lips gently with his own.

“Potter?”

Harry blinked to see Malfoy eyeing him strangely. “Huh?”

“You were a million miles away.”

Harry shook himself and turned away, back to the room which was conspicuously free of dangerous criminals. “Just got distracted,” he muttered.

He could sense Malfoy still watching him, but he refused to look back. Eventually Malfoy turned away, continuing his assessment of the area. A waitress in a pristine red apron brushed past them on her way to the kitchen, clearly unaware that they were sitting there.

Harry sighed; he must have guessed incorrectly. Sally was some criminal he was expected to know by name, and they had wasted precious time coming here instead of trying to get an address out of the smugglers like Smith and Wilson were surely failing to do.  

He raised his eyes up, above the throng of people waiting for their orders, wishing that the effects of the spell would begin to fade. The constant heightened awareness with so much going on around him was making him feeling like he was tipping close to the edge.

A small movement caught his eye. Frowning, he flicked his eyes back to the painting on the wall, sitting just above the corner booth. It was a painting of a barn, with stacks of hay and wooden crates piled up around a very bored looking cow. The cow chewed slowly, turning to look at Harry with large, soulful eyes. But that wasn’t the movement he had noticed; the cow had been chewing the whole time they were there. The flicker of movement had been something else, and Harry had looked at the painting long enough to know what it was.

“Malfoy, get up,” he hissed.

Malfoy’s head whipped up, his eyes immediately focused and alert. “Where are they?”

“They’re not here, but the goods are.” Harry nodded his head at the painting, pushing his chair back and walking quickly over to the booth.

He ignored Malfoy’s noise of confusion and nodded politely to the couple dining there. “Sorry.” He gave an apologetic smile. “I’ve just got to grab this painting. It needs reframing.”

The girl made a disinterested noise of acquiescence while the man ignored him, and Harry leaned over to pluck the painting off the wall.

“Let’s go before anyone notices,” he muttered, knocking Malfoy with his shoulder so that he turned and immediately began covering Harry on their way to the door.

As soon as they were outside, they apparated to the Ministry.

“They’re using the paintings?” Malfoy asked as soon as they were alone, glancing shrewdly at the frame in Harry’s hands. “That’s clever,” he added reluctantly.

“I’d estimate we have minutes before they’re due to pick up and realise it’s gone.” He strode quickly down the hallway to their office as soon as the elevator doors opened. “How do you think we get it out?”

He set the frame down on his desk and studied it, sensing Malfoy come to a halt beside him. After a moment’s pause, Malfoy shrugged and reached forward.

“They’re probably too arrogant to think anyone could intercept at this stage,” he said, waving his wand several times to dispel basic wards and then simply tapping his wand on the extra crate that had appeared in front of the hay stack.

For a moment nothing happened. The cow continue to chew, gazing wistfully at something out of view of the frame.

Then the crate gave a little shake, and there it was on their desk.

The next couple of hours were a whirlwind of questions and interrogations and furious energy as they dismantled Arthur’s department in the search for potions that had been smuggled into the Ministry. They found one tiny cache in a painting of an old fashioned dock, but the smugglers must have gotten wind by then and they found no further traces. Nonetheless, they had to be thorough, and it wasn’t until close to midnight that they finally determined the Ministry safe.

“Sorry about all this, Arthur,” Harry said, running and hand tiredly through his hair. “You didn’t have to stay until the end.”

“It’s quite alright, Harry,” Arthur said with a smile, before quickly stifling a yawn. “I’m glad you figured it out before anything could come of it.”

“Me too,” Harry said grimly. He had hoped they wouldn’t find anything, because then it was plausible that the Ministry wasn’t the target. Since they had found a stash - even a small one - they had to consider the possibility that there was someone working on the inside, waiting to retrieve the potions for some reason they had yet to determine.

“And that would be our cue to leave.” Malfoy suddenly appeared at Harry’s elbow, smiling brightly at Arthur and looking for all the world as if he had just woken up from an eight hour sleep. “Wiffleston is charging down the corridor with the temper and lucidity of a wounded rhinoceros, and I don’t particularly feel like answering the same question fifty times over while he blusters around trying to construct a dot point list of all the times we’ve personally subverted him today. Are you with me, Potter?”

“Gladly.” Harry shot a final apologetic smile to Arthur and climbed out the window after Malfoy.

“Well, would you look at that,” Malfoy said in a dry tone of admiration. “It’s a shortcut to the Atrium. I can’t believe nobody has figured this out yet. Come on, let’s go home.”

Harry had almost become used to the tugging in his chest whenever he was reminded of how unattainable Malfoy was, but hearing him casually refer to their current living arrangement as home still made his heart twist.

The living room was cold when they entered, and Malfoy promptly lit a fire. Wordlessly, they sat down on the armchairs on either side, leaning forward to warm their hands and feet. It was cosy, domestic. Harry could feel discomfort emanating from Malfoy, although he was doing a surprisingly good job of keep his face emotionless and his body relaxed.

No doubt, Malfoy was regretting the necessary homeliness of their situation. It must be difficult to bear for someone like Malfoy, not to mention that Harry’s presence prevented Malfoy from comfortably bringing anyone else home. Particularly after what they had done.

He shifted restlessly, trying not to think about it, but he could already feel his body reacting to the idea. His memory helpfully supplied the image of Malfoy on his knees, Harry’s fingers threading through his hair while his mouth-

“Potter.”

Harry swallowed and looked up. With a twinge of hope, Harry noticed that Malfoy’s eyes were dark and intent as he stared at Harry. Harry knew he didn’t stand a chance in hell of walking away from this unscathed, so what did it matter if he added another night to this torture? Surely it was better than not having Malfoy at all.

“I’m not sure either of us were thinking entirely straight the other morning.” Malfoy’s voice was low, Harry’s heightened awareness making the sound echo around in his head.

“Probably not,” Harry admitted, his heart beating furiously.

“This is,” Malfoy paused. “Difficult for me.”

The uncharacteristic candor was making Harry feel very off balance.

“I don’t usually-” Malfoy took a deep breath, having obvious difficulty in saying the words. “This is-”

Harry cut him off. “I know that you don’t do serious relationships,” he said, keeping his voice as light as he could. “That’s alright. I’m fine with just keeping this casual.” He forced himself to laugh, the sound slicing through him like a knife. “Let’s face it, we’d kill each other if it was anything more, wouldn’t we?”

For long seconds, Malfoy just stared at him. Finally, he nodded - a sharp, curt movement - and then stood.

“We can’t waste anymore time on this case. I’m going to research those potions.”

Harry stared up at him, feeling his brow furrow in confusion, but Malfoy had already turned away.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat by the fire, lost in his own thoughts, before Malfoy returned. With one look at Malfoy’s face, he knew he had found what he was looking for.

“They’re not isolated attacks,” he said slowly, sitting back down in the chair across from Harry, his nose still buried in the book.

Harry watched the firelight flicker gently across his features, casting shadows and lines where there were none, and waited silently for Malfoy to continue.

“The individual potion attacks are just a distraction to make us look outward. The thing about Portentia is that she always tried to create several uses for her potions, particularly combined uses.” Malfoy set the book down and looked up at Harry, his expression grave. “If you combine enough of the potions that are being smuggled through the paintings, you achieve a highly concentrated demolition that irreparably destroys magical wards.”

Harry’s eyes widened. Combustive blasts damaged wards if they were strong enough, but they were ultimately designed to damage whatever was inside the wards, not the ward itself. Once the damage was caused, the wards could be refortified in a matter of seconds. But destruction like this would mean that the wards themselves were targeted, and once destroyed, they would be gone forever.

Harry noticed suddenly that Malfoy’s foot was jiggling impatiently.

“You’re annoyed,” he said, confused. “Why are you annoyed?”

Malfoy looked up in surprise. He seemed to notice his foot, then, and kept it purposefully still. “I’m only irritated,” he said mildly. “Because I got it wrong.”

Harry frowned. “I thought you said you had figured it out?”

“I have. I’m right. But before that, I got it wrong.” Malfoy tapped his fingers on the chair impatiently. “I thought the immunity potions were honing in on Portentia’s explosives because they were providing immunity against them. When really, they were attracted to each other because they’re designed to be combined into one big, magical explosion. I should have paid more attention to the test results, but I thought the vague analysis of the immunity potion was simply because Portentia’s potions are so unique. Immunity against dark magic, combined with a nasty explosion, and really it’s quite obvious.”

“Is it?”

“For anyone with a brain, yes. The immunity potion imbues the explosion with immunity to, essentially, itself. What do you think happens, Potter, when a potion is immune to its own effects?”

“It’s a stalemate?” Harry suggested, confused.

“No.” Malfoy rolled his eyes. “It becomes unlimited. A falling rock is inevitably contained by its own impact. If you remove that impact - in other words, if you remove the opposing force and allow the initial force to grow unhindered - then you allow those effects to multiply exponentially and impact what they normally couldn’t touch, such as complex magical wards.” Malfoy frowned again. “I just missed it because I got lazy with the test results. Really, it should have been obvious when the potions were only attracted to you, and not trying to protect anyone else. If they were merely providing protection against Portentia’s potions, that wouldn’t have been the case. Immunity to dark magic - they were essentially trying to protect you from yourself. I should have spotted that, and realised that there was another reason they were attracted to each other.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “What are they trying to get into?” Harry asked, steering the subject back to the potions. “Gringotts? The Ministry?”

Malfoy shrugged. “Presumably something with multiple layers that take days to construct. Something that ordinary magical blasts could only poke holes in; definitely not leave it open to invasion.” He massaged his fingers against his temples, closing his eyes. “This is bad.”

“Well, we already knew that,” Harry said pragmatically.

Malfoy made a sigh of irritation. “Yes, but technically someone personally targeting Wiffleston is _bad_ ; it doesn’t mean I care. Now I know the scale of the attack, and I have to care. It’s annoying.”

Harry felt a wave of relief rush through him at the return of Malfoy’s usual snarky banter. Maybe whatever had happened earlier didn’t matter anymore, and they were going to be alright.

A thought occurred to him. The spell he had done with the knife had helped him to focus and notice things that they couldn’t possibly have noticed otherwise. Perhaps there was an incantation that could help them to discover what wards the potions were intended to break.

He looked at Malfoy and felt and odd stirring of guilt at the thought of deceiving him again. The thought filled him with conflicting indignation, but it was too late. He knew that Malfoy would be against this, even though Harry knew it was perfectly alright.

“Malfoy,” he said slowly.

“Yes?”

“I think… I think there are spells that could help us focus in on intent,” Harry began, wondering how to phrase it and immediately regretting that he was even trying.

Malfoy frowned. “What kind of-” he froze. “No. Not a chance. How can you even think of suggesting that, Potter, after everything we’ve been discussing?” Malfoy’s eyes flashed and he rose up out of his seat to begin pacing around the room.

Harry reeled back at the sudden anger in Malfoy’s voice. “It would only be a small spell,” he protested. “It wouldn’t make any difference to my healing process.”

“Do I have to lock you up?” Malfoy yelled, spinning around and staring at Harry with wide, dangerous eyes. “Are you _actually_ trying to convince me that you could engage in a small piece of dark magic without your Severe Proximity being effected? The answer is no, Potter. No I will not allow it, and no it would not leave your Severe Proximity uneffected. It would send you straight back down the path to destruction, no matter how small the spell.” He ran a hand through his hair, dishevelling it in an wholly un-Malfoy like way. “Is that actually how you measure this? On whether or not a spell will kill you? Have you been listening to anything I’ve been saying?”

Harry tried to interrupt, but Malfoy continued to yell over the top of him.

“No, it would not kill you. Not immediately. But one spell will lead to another spell, and eventually you will be consumed by the very thing you so foolishly sought to control. It is possible that someone who has not been damaged by dark magic for as long as you have could engage in one or two spells without the same inevitable outcome, but that ship has well and truly sailed for you. Like it or not, you cannot have even the smallest contact with any of it until it has completely left your system and all traces of curiosity has gone. The fact that you even want to still engage in it is telling enough.” His eyes suddenly narrowed. “You did do something the other day, when you went back to your flat.”

The whole time Malfoy had been ranting, Harry had stayed still, shocked by the emotional outburst. But the scathing accusation was the last straw, and driven by anger and gut-wrenching guilt, he exploded.

“So what if I did?” he yelled, standing up and taking two furious steps forward until he was pressed up, nose to nose with Malfoy. “I know that what I did was wrong, but that was because I didn’t know what I was doing, and now I do. I’m not going to end up the same way that I did before. I’ll be careful this time, and, Christ, Malfoy, I’m only asking to do this one thing, for this case, because it’s important.”

“First it’s this case, then it’s another case, then it’s another,” Malfoy gesticulated wildly. “I know you, Potter. _Everything_ is important to you. You will stop at nothing to help someone, and it terrifies me. For years you’ve been stuck in some kind of unbreakable apathy - we both have - and now _this_ is what brings you out of it? I haven’t seen you so empassioned about something since Hogwarts, and _this is what you choose to defend_?” He stopped short, his eyes looking so broken and confused that Harry’s heart went out to him.

He faltered. “No, I’m not defending dark magic,” he said, quieter but still fierce. “I don’t- I don’t think it should be a part of my life anymore, not like it was, I just don’t think it should be cut out like that. It’s not as bad as you think.”

Malfoy just stared at him, incredulous and sad. “It’s not as bad as you think,” he repeated softly. “Well, you’d know, wouldn’t you?” The sarcasm and anger in his voice hurt, but Harry forced himself to hold strong. “Just because I haven’t experienced what you’re going through, doesn’t mean I’m wrong,” he finished tightly, before turning and leaving the room.

Harry desperately wanted to call out, “It doesn’t mean you’re right either,” but he didn’t.

Instead, when he was certain that Malfoy was asleep, he pulled the knife out from where he had hidden it under the bed and repeated the incantation from yesterday. He knew that Malfoy would be able to sense it when he woke up, but he didn’t care. If it helped him notice something - anything - it was worth it.

This time, he did vomit. He made it to the bathroom just in time to clutch the toilet and heave wretchedly. When he managed to finally open his eyes to a still room, he waited for the clarity to hit him and make everything - the vomiting, the fight with Malfoy, all of it - worth it. But nothing happened. Everything seemed a little lighter, a little crisper, but that was it.

Frustrated, he fell into bed fully clothed, not bothering to pull the blankets over him, and went to sleep.

 

***

 

He was woken to an angry drumming that reverberated around in his head painfully. He winced, and as Malfoy burst into the room he realised that it was the sound of Malfoy knocking on the door.

It took Malfoy three seconds to spot the knife where it had fallen on the ground. Harry hadn’t bothered to pick it up. Long, tense moments passed where Malfoy just stared at the knife, his face stricken.

“I can feel it,” he whispered, finally looking up to meet Harry’s eyes.

Harry just stared back, leaning up slightly on his elbows and frozen by the intensity of Malfoy’s gaze.

“You’ve filled the whole house with it. _What did you do?_ ”

Harry looked away, knowing with certainty that the spell didn’t work like it was meant to and wishing he knew why. “It will help,” he said sullenly, wondering if that were even still true.

“No it won’t.” Malfoy turned away and left the room.

Harry managed to dress himself without issue, and made his way into the kitchen where Malfoy was waiting.

“Ready?” Malfoy asked, and when Harry nodded he simply leaned forward, grabbed his hand, and apparated them both away.

Despite the fact that the spell hadn’t worked, the side effects were worse than before. When they arrived at their office, Harry had to run to the bin before he was sick all over the carpet. He was surprised that it hadn’t happened in the Atrium, but small mercies, he supposed.

He stood up to see Malfoy watching him. All anger from the previous night was gone, and he looked strangely brittle.

“Do you need a potion?” Malfoy asked quietly.

Harry shook his head, not sure what a healing potion would do to him when he still had the effects of the spell coursing through him.

“I’ll be fine,” he rasped.

They had arranged to meet with Wiffleston to update him on Malfoy’s discovery, but he was away from his office, meeting with representatives from America, so they had to wait. Much to Malfoy’s chagrin, this meant they had time to prepare the update as a report, like Wiffleston was demanding.

They were barely a page in, when a knock came on the office door.

“Enter,” Malfoy said, sounding annoyed, though Harry knew he was ecstatic at the interruption.

Smith and Wilson walked through, and Malfoy groaned.

“Don’t you have some restaurants to interrogate?” he muttered.

Wilson narrowed his eyes. “I must say I have my suspicions that your list of suspects, Mr. Malfoy, were completely unrelated to the case,” he said stiffly. “Nonetheless, we have been providing you with constant, personal updates - despite Mr. Wiffleston’s request - to the detriment of our workload, and we would like to see some respect for it.”

“Good man,” Malfoy said distractedly. “What’s your report?”

Wilson’s report was drowned out by Harry’s sudden, violent gagging fit into the bin at his feet. When he sat up again, he saw Wilson and Smith looking at him with an expression well past alarm.

“Mr. Potter, you look terrible,” Smith said weakly. “Do you need to take time off?”

Wilson held out a hand abruptly. Harry watched with a sinking feeling as Wilson’s eyes flitted from Harry to Malfoy and back again.

“He’s not sick,” he said finally. “I never knew you were an alcoholic, Mr. Potter.”

“I’m not,” Harry said furiously, feeling his stomach protest the harsh emotion. Overcome with a fresh wave of nausea, he leaned over the bin and heaved up the remaining contents of his breakfast.

Wilson snorted disbelievingly. “You’re unfit to be at work.” His voice had turned nasty; the zealous fervor of a bureaucrat who has discovered a long forgotten, frequently broken, regulation.

“He’s fine,” Malfoy said, a dangerous edge to his tone. “Are you forgetting your place?”

“Not at all.” Wilson turned back to Malfoy, his eyes lit with pleasure. “I will report this, and we’ll see exactly what Mr. Wiffleston says.”

Malfoy lifted his hand and the door slammed shut behind Smith and Wilson, making the two Aurors jump. “You will do nothing of the sort,” he said calmly. “Potter will go home and sleep off this nasty stomach bug, and he will return tomorrow to work on your reports.”

Harry stared at Malfoy. He looked over at Smith and Wilson - one of them very obviously wishing they were anywhere but here, and the other looking like a cat with a large, feathered bird in its mouth. He had no choice.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said to no one in particular, and left the office.

 _Why hadn’t the spell worked?_ He wondered in the privacy of Malfoy’s living room. He had done it exactly the same as he had the day before, but there was almost no effect.

And each second that he wasted was a second more that the criminals stayed ahead of the Aurors. He needed to stop them. They were planning something large scale, and if Harry didn’t find out what it was soon, it could be too late.

But if he left the apartment, Malfoy would know. And besides, what would he do? The spells didn’t seem to be working.

Unless he let someone else do it for him. He froze, contemplating the idea. He had already admitted that he was out of his depth when it came to actually using the magic; perhaps that was where he had gone wrong. He had missed some vital step that he had done by accident the first time.

He looked at the time, and realised that Malfoy would be stuck with Wiffleston, no doubt explaining the urgency in tiny little steps for Wiffleston to follow. He might not even notice Harry passing through the wards.

Mind made up, he apparated to Knockturn Alley.

 

***

 

A strange sound was filling Harry’s ears. The sound of a deep voice chanting, the words rasping in a language that was both familiar and foreign. He opened his eyes but there was nothing to see, the room was black, and when he tried to reach for his wand he realised his hands and feet were bound.

His disorientation washed abruptly away and he realised he was bound to some kind of table, lying on his back with his limbs spread and bound to the corners.

Still, the voice droned on. It was only one voice, but Harry could sense there was more than one person in the room. The voice moved, pacing slowly around him, and Harry frowned as his mind started to build a clearer picture of the room. Small, but empty. Empty but for the two of them.

But he could sense the others.

A small whimper escaped him just before his blood turned to fire and he arched back off the table in a scream. The voice droned on, and Harry felt himself being filled with magic so strong and deep it was like a well of darkness. With everything in him, he knew suddenly that Malfoy was right: this was wrong. How had he come to this? His small ventures were nothing like this primal ritual.

He could hardly remember how he had gotten here, and what had he possibly thought would be waiting when he did? A little light-hearted dark magic? There was no such thing.

Harry screamed again as the fire coursed through him, the pounding of blood in his temple beating out a terrifying rhythm to the pain.

Then, suddenly, the voice faltered. There came the sound of a door opening, and dingy light filled the room, blinding Harry to the sudden noise of spells. Auror spells.

Awash with relief that the pain had stopped, he passed out.

 

***

 

It didn’t surprise him that he woke up in St Mungo’s, but it did surprise him that the first sight he saw was Malfoy’s face hovering over his. When he saw Harry’s eyes open, he gave a smile as relieved as it was fleeting, and Harry wondered if he’d imagined it.

“You have no idea the strings I’ve had to pull to make sure you don’t get stuck here,” he muttered, speaking quickly. “And you don’t deserve any of them. If anyone asks, we took down a criminal in Knockturn Alley and you got caught in some nasty spellwork.”

Harry had enough time to nod before a nurse bustled over and began checking him with brisk invasiveness, all the while asking questions like “what were you hit with?”, “did you see the colour of the spell”, and “was the incantation in latin or greek”.

Harry thought it best to plead absolute ignorance, and when the nurse finally left him alone with Malfoy, he found himself feeling oddly subdued.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to say before Malfoy could open his mouth. “You were right.”

Malfoy’s jaw dropped, but he quickly regained his composure and smirked. “You’re bloody right, I was right. The only reason I haven’t ratted you out is because Granger is close to popping, and I fear what the discovery of the full extent of your pigheadedness will do to her health. Besides, we’ve had an anonymous tip off and we need to move fast. I need you.”

Harry stilled at the words, even though they were entirely out of context. He looked up to see Malfoy apparently fighting some internal battle, wanting to say something else. Malfoy’s hand lifted, like he was going to reach out for Harry, but then he dropped it and raised his eyebrow in familiar acerbicness.

“Shall we?” he said simply. “We don’t have much time.”

Harry nodded, reaching down to pull on his shoes. “I won’t do it again,” he said quietly.

“Yes you will.”

Harry looked up at the blunt words.

Malfoy shrugged. “You will. It’s the nature of it. I had misplaced faith in you, I think.” He smiled wrily. “I thought you would be stronger than the others, but that was stupid of me.”

Harry wondered if he had sustained a head injury; never before had he heard Malfoy admit he had made a mistake. Even if it did still result in insulting Harry.

Malfoy glanced at him with a look that was equal parts sadness and acceptance. “You will do it again, but I’ll be here to stop you. And now I have the memory of this half-witted, moronic, empty-headed, witless, and just plain fucking stupid escapade to hold over your head. Which you - a filthy Gryffindor - will find just guilt-inducing enough to make you pause. And when you pause, I will hex you and tie you to the bed. Now, are you coming? They’re going to attack the Dark Magic ward.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he fumbled to finish putting on his shoes.

When they arrived at the Ministry - well after ordinary office hours - there was chaos around the entrance to the Dark Magic ward. Harry realised resignedly that this meant people would have to know about what he had come to think of as his secret place, but if it was between that and having it infiltrated by criminals, the answer was clear. He felt a begrudging sort of pride at how quickly Malfoy had managed to throw the Aurors into action.

“What was the tip off?”

Malfoy handed him a scrap of parchment that simply read “They want to get into the Ministry Dark Magic ward”. Harry frowned. The writing looked vaguely familiar. “Do you trust it?”

Malfoy shrugged. “Not entirely,” he admitted. “But you have to admit that it would be devastating if they gained access to the ward. It’s better to be cautious.”

Harry suddenly grinned. “How long did it take you to convince Wiffleston that the ward existed and that you’d been in there?”

An Auror hurrying past did an alarmed double take at the grin that spread across Malfoy’s face and hurried along.

“The poor dear was quite adamant that it was impossible,” Malfoy said wistfully. “He needed a practical demonstration.”

Harry was sorry he had missed it.

An Auror by the name of Milstred walked up to Malfoy, nodding respectfully to the two of them. “Mr. Wiffleston has agreed to your increased staffing,” she reported. “Aurors are stationed in twos in the dungeons and on each level of the Ministry.

“Good.”

Milstred departed. Suddenly, the events of the day caught up to Harry, leaving him feeling suddenly very tired and drained.

“Do you think they’ll still try it, even with the extra security?” Harry asked. “How long can we keep the protection measures up?”

“As long as it takes,” Malfoy said tightly. “They’ll either wait it out in the hopes that we grow tired and lax, or they’ll go for the element of surprise and attack immediately. And I would be very surprised if they actually thought we would get tired on our home ground, as it were. This isn’t a siege. We can bring in replacements for as long as it takes.”

Harry nodded, wishing he wasn’t feeling quite so off kilter. Malfoy was right, though - he did need Harry here. At any moment, Wiffleston could decide that the whole thing was a hoax and veto Malfoy’s decisions. At least with Harry here, making a public spectacle, he would be forced politically to concede more than his pride would ordinarily allow.

“I’ll patrol-” Harry began, but was interrupted by a large explosion coming from beneath their feet, followed by a second one that sounded like it was somewhere near the entrance.

“For fuck’s sake!” Malfoy swore bitterly, and the two broke into a run, sprinting down the stairs to the dungeons.

In the chaos of smoke and surprisingly few pieces of rubble and debris, it took several seconds before they could make out the figures of Auror’s standing in combat positions, searching for an enemy.

Harry scanned the room, his tiredness evaporated and every sense alert and ready. He counted the Aurors - one, two, three, four, five. All present. No one extra, and very little destruction.

Malfoy waved his wand and a shimmering light swept through the dungeons, catching effervescently in the final cell before fading away. “They’ve done it,” he snarled. “It’s broken the wards and not the building.”

Just as Malfoy was about to leap forward, Harry noticed it: a small, triumphant smile that was utterly incongruous to the damage before them.

He yelled, “Incarcerous,” and Smith came crashing down in a heap on the floor.

Malfoy turned to Harry, saw the look in his eye, and changed direction, hauling the bound Smith up and holding him against the wall.

“What did you do?” Harry spat.

Smith, unusually calm, stared back. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” His voice was nothing like its usual timid self. “The difficulty was all in setting off the first explosion. You won’t be able to stop the rest.”

Malfoy threw him back down onto the ground just as the first sounds of spellwork reached their ears: fighting in the stairwell.

Expecting a wave of figures wearing hooded, black robes, Harry and Malfoy stopped dead when the first shimmer of an iridescent, white patronus galloped out of the stairwell.

Not a patronus; a ghost.

The sound of howling echoed round the tiny dungeons as a tall lady, mounted atop a gigantic steed, swept past them. Her long hair flew behind her, and her face was a beautiful, emotionless mask as she galloped to the back of the room, and simply disappeared.

Harry barely had enough time to realise that she looked strangely familiar before he felt Malfoy stiffen beside him and heard the cold horror in Malfoy’s voice as he whispered, “Portentia.”

Chains rattled and the howling grew like thunder as more ghosts emerged, galloping and clattering through on horse and foot alike, ignoring the Aurors who stood watching on in horror, realising that against this threat, their spells were utterly useless. Harry’s mind was filled with images of the Headless Hunt that Nick had so longed to join, and he swore he could see at least one ghost riding past with a pale white skull held imperiously beneath their arm.

In a moment, they were gone, leaving silence in their wake.

A strange sound started, softly at first, but growing until Harry realised incredulously that it was laughter. Rounding on Smith, he heard the words “told you”, just before Malfoy shot him with a stunning spell and Smith collapsed back in silence.

“What do we do now?” one of the Aurors asked, daring the question that Harry couldn’t bring himself to say.

There was nothing they could do. Not against this.

“Come on,” Malfoy snapped, and ran to the back of the dungeon, Harry right beside him.

They charged through the broken wards, the crumpled figure of the portal lying before an ordinary hole in the wall, every Auror from the Ministry following behind them.

They emerged into chaos. The lanterns were blown out and only the eery light of the ghosts at the top of the stairs lit their way. The sound of howling had stopped, and the strange sounds of a battle appeared to have replaced them. Books flew down the stairwell, crashing into the wall coming to an expectant halt, while delicate apparatus swirled in surreal serenity above their heads.

“They’re taking all of it.” Malfoy muttered as they leaped up the stairs. “Why the hell are they taking all of it?”

Harry felt despair flood through him at the thought of the damage this knowledge could do in the hands of the enemy. This knowledge was no longer common, or indeed present in living memory - how could they possibly hope to combat it?

An earsplitting screech broke through his thoughts just as they reached the top of the stairs, all the Aurors clattering out into a useless huddle, wands drawn and aimed at the ghosts.

“You dare to disturb the sanctity of my abode?”

The scream filled the hall, and Harry wasn’t the only one who doubled over in pain. Through the overwhelming rage he could feel emanating from the walls, he realised he knew the voice; he had thought he had guessed at Mildred’s anger before, but he had known nothing.

It was all he could manage to shield the Aurors while Malfoy fired off every curse he knew that could possible have an effect on a ghost. He didn’t know many. But as the battled dragged on and Harry began to notice the details of what was going on around him instead of just a blur of fighting, he realised that the ferocity and purpose of the invaders was no match for the intricate knowledge and skill of the three guardians within.

While Mildred attacked with a single-minded purpose that made Harry think immediately of McGonagal, Barnaby and Reginald quickly and efficiently vanished the contents of the room, shielding themselves and the artefacts as they went.

It took Portentia and the others several minutes longer to realise what was happening. With a howl of rage, Portentia slammed her fist into the wall beside her; it passed straight through, and for a moment the room was filled with light, serene and ice cold.

And then, they were gone.

 

***

 

The Ministry had survived the invasion with surprisingly few injuries. It had seemed that the ghosts were intent on the raid, rather than the battle, and no one had predicted the resistance they would find within the Dark Magic ward.

Free now to roam the rest of the Ministry, Barnaby, Reginald, and Mildred had spent a full week reacquainting themselves with the building they had worked in all their life - and death - and had quickly decided that it was not for them, and insisted on overseeing the rebuilding of the Dark Magic ward.

Harry couldn’t help but smile when he had wandered down and saw Mildred berating a contractor yet again for installing a modern designed bathroom when ‘luxuries such as hot water are detrimental to proper focus and self discipline’.

The general good mood of the rebuilding process was enough that Harry even managed to only shake his head incredulously when he found out that Amy had been behind the anonymous tip off.

“I knew my great, great, great, etcetera aunt was up to something,” she said apologetically, waving her hand and rolling her eyes at the excessive number of ‘greats’. “Her portrait kept harping on about lost chances and immortality, and when I realised that her ghost was still riding around on that monster of a horse, I knew she was planning something dangerous. I was hoping I could get some information to you subtly, but then she caught onto what I was doing and it wasn’t safe for you.”

Harry had made sure that Amy knew he wasn’t upset or angry, and thanked her for her help.

“Can I take you out to dinner to make up for it?”

When Harry had shaken his head and said gently, but firmly, ‘no’, she had looked hurt but understanding, and Harry had left relieved that at least one thing in his life seemed to have wrapped itself up nicely.

“At least they’re keeping it down below the dungeons,” Malfoy muttered to him when he returned to their office after his morning visit to the three delighted ghosts.

“I like having them around,” he said. “It reminds me of Hogwarts.”

“Of course it does,” Malfoy drawled, his voice thick with disgust, but when he glanced up at Harry his expression was strangely fond.

Harry felt his stomach flip, as it had so often since the events several weeks ago. Malfoy had been looking at him like that more and more, and Harry had to fight to remind himself that it didn’t mean anything and never would.

After everything had settled, and the Ministry had acknowledged the fact that they now had to consider the danger of criminals they had buried centuries ago, along with the knowledge of dark rituals well beyond what modern Aurors could imagine, the Ministry had agreed to reinstate the Dark Magic ward. With the help of the Unspeakables and researchers from overseas, it hadn’t taken long to construct a complicated system of wards and traps to protect both the Ministry and the dangerous knowledge they now realised they held. They still had a long way to go, and all the departments were on edge at the possibility of an unexpected attack, but Harry considered it an excellent start. Despite the danger of Portentia and her unknown number of accomplices, it felt infinitely safer to be researching the threat instead of running blind in the hope that there wasn’t one.

The sound of a door softly closing made him look up, and he gave an involuntary intake of breath when he saw Malfoy walking slowly toward him.

“We need to talk,” Malfoy said quietly.

Harry closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, Malfoy was looking at him with that same strange expression: fond, exasperated, partially annoyed. But Malfoy was always partially annoyed.

“I know you have this issue with getting serious with someone,” Malfoy said, and Harry felt his eyes widen in surprise. “And honestly, it surprised me at first. I never thought you were like that. But it would be hypocritical of me not to be understanding. So, I don’t hold it against you, but I just wanted you to know-” he paused and took a deep breath. “I just wanted to you to know that if you change your mind-” he trailed off, leaving Harry gaping at him.

“If _I_ change _my_ mind?” he asked after a long pause. “What the hell do you mean? You’re the one who doesn’t fall in love.”

Malfoy frowned. “Exactly. Which is why this is so hard for me.”

Harry closed his eyes again, unable to keep the wince of pain from showing on his face. Then he realised that what Malfoy had said didn’t quite make sense. “What do you mean it’s hard for you? Why is it hard for you?”

“Because I’m not used to loving someone!” Malfoy burst out, losing his calm composure and throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know how to do it. I feel all these, these _things_ and it’s uncomfortable, and honestly I thought you might be a little more helpful, but it turns out you’re just as bad as I am, and-”

Harry held up a hand, his head spinning with the effort to keep track of Malfoy’s admission - at least, what he thought was an admission. “Are you saying you’re in love with me?”

Malfoy stared at him, incredulous. “Of course that’s what I’m saying, what did you think I was saying? Are you telling me you didn’t know?”

For long seconds they just stared at each other, eyes comically wide.

“No,” Harry finally managed in something like a squeak.

“But, but the Amortentia,” Malfoy choked. “And the rescuing. And the _sex_.”

“You have sex with people all the time!” Harry yelled, rather more loudly than he probably should have, considering they were in their office. “And you’re an Auror; it’s your job to rescue people!”

“Exactly,” Malfoy yelled back. “It’s my job! Do you really think I’m going to do it in my spare time if I don’t lo-” He swallowed and tried again. “If I don’t love the person?”

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted.

Malfoy muttered in exasperation. “Well, I’m not, so now you know, and if you change your mind about-”

“I love you.”

Malfoy stopped dead. “Come again?”

“I love you, Draco.” Harry looked into grey eyes, his heart filling with warmth until he thought he would burst.

Slowly, carefully, Malfoy’s lips curved up into a smile. “I love you, too, Harry.” He reached out tentatively; the same motion he had made weeks ago at St. Mungo’s. But this time he didn’t falter, but set his hands on Harry’s waist and pulled him close.

Harry brought his hands up, running them through Malfoy’s hair and holding him still as he leaned forward, closing the distance between them, and kissed him.

  


**Epilogue**

 

Harry lowered his wand, bringing the couch to a soft landing and smiling to himself when Malfoy tutted and readjusted it.

“Do I need to ask why you bought a bright red couch?” Malfoy asked in disgust.

“Pissing you off was my first reason,” Harry mused. “And, second to that, probably came pissing you off.”

In protest, Malfoy waved his wand and three silver cushions dropped down on top of the couch.

Harry made a face. “It looks hideous.”

“Doesn’t it?” Malfoy said with an affectionate smile. “We’ll see who cracks first.”

Harry burst out laughing. “You will.”

“Will I? Will I, Harry?”

Harry reached out and snagged the back of Malfoy’s jumper, drawing him back toward him and sliding his arm around his waist. “Then it can be our ugly couch,” he murmured into Malfoy’s ear, enjoying the way Malfoy trembled when Harry’s breath slid across his neck. “And we’ll pretend we love it and watch all of our guests squirm as they try not to offend us.”

Malfoy smirked. “You know I’m going to turn it green when you’re not looking, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Harry pulled Malfoy backward until their knees hit the back of the couch and they tumbled down, landing on top of each other. The rest of the apartment was unfurnished, despite several days of intense furniture shopping.

“Why couldn’t we get the cast iron bed?” Harry asked mournfully.

“Because it was cheap. Does the bed I selected look cheap to you, Harry?”

“It wasn’t cheap,” Harry mumbled.

“Precisely. Although I must give you a small commendation for suggesting a bed that I could easily tie you to.” Malfoy leaned back and smirked at him.

Harry huffed in fake exasperation. “You haven’t had to do that, and you know it.”

“I do know it,” Malfoy said seriously. “You’re doing really well.”

Harry felt himself warm with pride. He still had to fight the occasional battle within himself when the insidious thoughts slipped in - that it wouldn’t be that bad to just practice a little dark magic here and there. But whenever he felt that way, he went to talk to Malfoy, and they would find some way of distracting him. He’d become so confident lately that Malfoy had even allowed him to study in the newly refurbished Dark Magic ward.

Which was good, because they had a long way to go when it came to dealing with all the new rituals that were popping up across Britain. Portentia had managed to steal some things after all, and word was spreading amongst the underbelly of the wizarding community. They no longer had to deal with only petty criminals and wannabe Death Eaters; ancient dark magic was returning to their world, and ‘know thy enemy’ was more important than ever.

Harry’s thoughts were interrupted by the firm press of Malfoy’s lips against his.

“So, we’ve got a bed and a couch,” Malfoy murmured against his mouth. “And we’re choosing to sit on the couch. Can you please explain to me why that is?”

Harry grinned and lifted him up, laughing softly at Malfoy’s surprised expression.

“My hero,” Malfoy said drily, batting his eyelashes as Harry carried him into the bedroom.

“You’ve got that the wrong way around, actually,” Harry said, feeling unexpectedly sappy.

“At least someone knows it.”

When Harry rolled his eyes, Malfoy simply smirked and pulled Harry down onto the emerald green sheets beside him.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with this... for reasons that are obvious from the notes throughout, this fic is kind of messy. It took me so long to finish it that there are probably millions of inconsistencies and errors through the whole thing, as well as possible loose ends and I know I paced it faster than I had intended to... Let alone the terrible chapter structure stuff. But I've finished it. That's all I wanted to do, and I've done it - can I get a hells yeah? So, apologies for the messiness. At some point, I may go through and tidy some things up, but for now it's done and it's a weight off my mind. Thank you for your kind words along the way :)


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